The American's Thesis
by star-eye
Summary: Slightly AU where John has a cousin from America coming to London to study for her graduate work. Sherlock of course has no interest in this until he learns that he is a source of research for her thesis. Main focus will be on actual characters (including Moriarty) with only one OC. No Slash, friendship only. Rated T for minor swearing. Unfortunately, I own nothing :(
1. Prologue

"Oh John, here's your mail before I forget it," Mrs. Hudson smiled fondly. "You've got a letter, dear. All the way from America!"

"What's that?" John Watson asked, glancing up from his newspaper with interest while Sherlock continued to sulk like a three-year-old denied his afternoon sweet.

"A letter from America, dear. Maine, I believe," Mrs. Hudson repeated, passing the envelope to the doctor before smiling fondly at Sherlock. "No case today, love?"

"Not a single one all bloody week," Sherlock groused, glancing over his shoulder to momentarily consider his landlady.

"Manners, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson chided sweetly before exiting the flat.

"Hmm," John hummed in amusement as he read the mystery letter.

"What?" Sherlock snapped, so desperate for any form of stimulation that he was even willing to hear what mundane event had occurred in his flat mate's life.

"My Uncle Charlie's written."

"Yes, yes, married an American and has not returned to England ever since," Sherlock moaned. "I've heard it before, the uncle who _should_ have been there when your father was spiraling out of control after your mother's death, leaving you and Harriet to make your way in the world and driving _poor_ Harry to drink and you to aspirations of greatness."

"Okay, not exactly our family story, but anyways…" John spoke through gritted teeth. "My uncle has a daughter who is apparently a university student and she's studying abroad here in London this semester."

"Here? Why? To 'reconnect with _long lost_ family'?" Sherlock asked sardonically.

"Well that's not what he actually wrote, but I'd imagine so. And why not? Nicole's only ever known her mum's side of the family. Not like she's ever had the chance to visit and get to know Harry or I," John added in a murmur. "I've never traveled to America and they never came to visit after dad died."

"Please tell me that you're not about to wax sentimental," Sherlock groaned, his head flopping back onto the couch, dreading what he knew was likely to come.

"I'm not waxing anything. I just think it'll be nice to meet some more of my family. And she's university, Sherlock. Probably not too 'boring' or 'ordinary'."

"I don't care," Sherlock groaned.

"Well since you don't care either way, I'll definitely write Nicole and tell her to come visit," John smiled, opening his laptop and pulling out his email account.

"Wait, what?"

"Uncle Charlie put her email address in the letter, told me to write her if I wanted. You don't care, remember?" John chuckled. Sherlock scowled and grumbled something under his breath before going into his mind palace and deleting what John had just told him. A cousin from America? Good to know about John, but why should he care about the girl? It's not as though she would have anything whatsoever to do with him and the work.


	2. Hello, I'm Nicole Watson

Three weeks later Sherlock scowled as he bounded down the staircase. He had been in the midst of an experiment when the light sound of knocking had begun to make its way up to the apartment. That had been five minutes ago. Now the knocking had graduated to a persistent, shrill, unending ringing of the doorbell. Shouting for Mrs. Hudson five times had not worked and whoever was at the door was now proceeding to ring the doorbell at increasingly annoying rates.

So it was with a full-fledged sneer that he threw the front door open and looked down upon a young woman.

Sherlock's mind immediately began categorizing her, from the simple cut of her dark blonde hair, the worn-out state of her blue jeans, the smudge of her mascara, to the new backpack that had a tiny pin of the American flag attached to the shoulder strap.

American, between the ages of 22 and 25, university student, slight resemblance to John. His cousin.

"Hello, I'm Nicole Watson. I was just wondering if Doctor John Watson was in?" the woman asked, giving a light sigh of relief and smiling brightly at Sherlock.

"No, go away," the thin man with startling blue-gray eyes scoffed before slamming the door in the blonde's face. Frowning, the young woman knocked at the door again, even harder this time. Sherlock appeared once more, his frown only deepening as he glared at the interloper.

"Why are you still here? I told you to –"

"Look, do me a favor and cut the crap. My cousin wrote saying to come to 221B Baker Street on Thursday at 3 to meet him. This is 221B Baker Street, it's Thursday, and it's 3:05. My cousin should be here."

"He's not."

"Oh really?" Nicole asked sarcastically. "Then may I assume you're Sherlock Holmes or are you just rude on principle?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"He told me to beware his flatmate who would, 'more than likely insult (me) and order (me) to leave'," Nicole said with a roll of her eyes before adopting a more understanding expression. "I understand if you don't really want company right now. But if my cousin is here I'd really like to come and meet him. If he's not then could you please give me an idea of when he'll be back? This is the only free day I have this week."

Sherlock sniffed and stared derisively at the unimpressive creature before him. This girl seemed entirely insignificant in comparison to the brilliance of _his_ Watson. Could they really be related? Then again John _was_ related to Harry and there was an unmitigated disaster if ever there was one…

"So…" Nicole trailed off, looking at Sherlock expectantly for some strange reason.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

"Is John in?"

"No."

"Figures," Nicole huffed. "Do you know when he'll be in?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Nicole blinked in surprise at the rudeness of this statement. She took a deep breath and was about to do a spectacular job of telling him _exactly_ what she thought of him and his so-called posh British manners when the two were interrupted by a soft voice coming from the street.

"Sherlock dear, could you help…oh who do you have here? A client?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a hopeful smile towards Nicole. Miss Watson frowned at her in confusion while Sherlock rolled his eyes disdainfully.

"_Hardly_. Mrs. Hudson this is simply John's 'guest' from America. Nia Watson."

"That's _Nicole_ Watson," the young woman corrected fiercely, oblivious to the delighted smile being directed her way.

"Wonderful to meet you dearie, I'm Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh. Um, it's nice to meet you too," Nicole said uncertainly, holding out her hand in an attempt to greet the other woman but stopping awkwardly when she saw that the older lady was waited down with several large bags of groceries.

"There you've met, now Nicole can help you with the groceries," Sherlock declared loftily before turning on his heel and racing back up the stairs to his hopefully not-yet-exploded experiment.

Nicole's mouth dropped open in indignation, but before she could fully digest the situation five bags were being pushed into her unprepared arms.

"Oh thank you dear, I must say I was lucky to catch a cab, but I was worried about getting all of these things in," Mrs. Hudson fretted as she walked past Nicole and into the flat. "But with your help, we'll get things put away quick as anything."

"Oh…well okay," Nicole sighed, following after Mrs. Hudson for no reason other than to at least set down the heavy bags. With a quick twitch of her right leg, Nicole kicked the door to 221 Baker Street shut and followed Mrs. Hudson to her apartment.

"So are you another flat mate?" Nicole asked as she followed Mrs. Hudson into her kitchen.

"Not at all dear, I'm the landlady, although the way that those two act you would think I was the maid or housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson scoffed.

"That must be very frustrating for you," Nicole observed as she began to set the bags down on the kitchen table. "Would you like help putting these things away?"

"That would be lovely dear. You start on that and I'll set a kettle of tea on and we can enjoy a nice cuppa," Mrs. Hudson offered, smiling warmly at the young woman as she bustled about her warm little kitchen.

"Thank you. And it's Nicky, please."

"Well then, you can go ahead and call me Marie. Only not around the boys, please. I think it would only confuse dear Sherlock if he heard you call me anything other than Mrs. Hudson," Marie chuckled.

"And we wouldn't want that," Nicky commented wryly, rolling her eyes. All in all, it was safe to say that she was thoroughly unimpressed by her cousin's flatmate and was only wishing now that Dr. John Watson would prove to be different from the priss that he shared a flat with.

"Oh, he's an unusual one, Sherlock Holmes is. But don't you ever doubt that he's ever the gentleman. He's helped me out more times than I can count, and he's such a dear, sweet thing," Marie Hudson sighed with contentment.

"Really? I can't imagine. Oh, where do you want these to go?" Nicky asked, having finished putting away anything perishable in the fridge and moving on to a few canned goods.

"Just there in the shelves Nicky, that will do just fine. Here, do you need the stepping stool?"

"No, I've got it," Nicky insisted confidently, stretching up as high as she could and still only just brushing the cabinet handle. Marie Hudson chuckled and brought over the small stepping stool that she used on occasion, setting it before Nicky with only a small wink.

"Your cousin, John, is much the same way. Always so helpful but refuses to use the ladder. He's come a long way you know," Marie observed as Nicky blushed and used the stool to properly put away the rest of the groceries.

"Really?"

"Oh yes, why when I first met him he had such a terrible limp. From the war you know, of course."

"Not really. I researched him and found his blog, but he doesn't really say to much about himself," Nicky admitted. "Just that he was a doctor back from Afghanistan."

"Oh no, he doesn't like reliving the past," Marie tutted. "Smart of him, that. No point in living in the past when the present is so beautiful."

"Beautiful?" Nicky chuckled. "Interesting word choice."

"Oh, it's an exciting, beautiful time. Sherlock's got his work and a friend," Marie smiled fondly.

"Okay…that's Sherlock, but what about you? What's beautiful about what you're doing now?"

"Me? Why I've got my friends, my home, my boys, all in all a better life than I ever could have imagined ten years ago."

"What were you doing ten years ago?" Nicky asked, stepping down from the stool and turning to look at Marie.

"Well let me see…I suppose that would have been just around when I first met Sherlock. I was living in Hillcrest Heights –"

"Is that here in England?" Nicky interjected, not recognizing the name of the town.

"Oh no dear, it's in Florida. My husband and I moved there from England a year or two after we married," Marie explained, not at all put off by being interrupted. At that moment the kettle began to whistle and Marie was quick to stand and gather the cups and tealeaves.

"You're married?"

"No dear, he's dead," Mrs. Hudson explained as she poured the hot water into the waiting teapot.

"I'm so sorry," Nicky said quietly. "Did…did he die suddenly? I mean, or was it, but obviously you don't have to talk about it. I mean I…I…obviously you must still be upset about it, I'm sorry!"

"Oh now none of that dear," Marie turned away from the filled pot instantly, concern clear on her face for the stammering young woman. "My husband died quite naturally. He had a minute's worth of electricity pass through his body."

"Oh how horrible!"

"Yes," Mrs. Hudson nodded sadly. "I was hoping it would at least be a minute and a half."


	3. I'm sorry, did you say thumbs?

"Um…uh, um…well," Nicky stammered.

"Oh don't worry dear, I didn't do anything to him," Marie said cheerfully, patting Nicky's hand comfortingly. "No, he was a serial killer and it was dear Sherlock who caught him for the police. Saved me too, for that matter."

"You were married to a serial killer that lived in Florida?"

"Yes. Happily married for thirteen years, sadly married for two years, and then Sherlock helped me move back to London. I had been so eager to come back since all of my family and friends were here. I hated being away from them, even though I did love my Tom when we first moved. But after he was executed and Sherlock had decided he was ready to come back to London I knew for certain that it was time to come home."

"What was Sherlock doing in Florida?"

"You know, I'm really not sure. Dear boy, he's so secretive. Probably getting some distance from that terrible brother of his. Family is important, but that Mycroft Holmes...always looking over his little brother's shoulder, hmph, hardly a surprise that the poor boy dislikes others so much! Dear Sherlock, he tries so hard to get on with others, but you know his mind just works in ways that they just can't understand. John understands him, at least a little thank the Lord, and they get on all right, but you know I've always had the thought that what Sherlock needs most is just to be allowed to be himself. That's why I don't make too much of a fuss when he puts thumbs in the fridge, shoots the wall, or uses my petunias to test his poisons."

"I'm sorry, did you say thumbs in the fridge?" Nicky interrupted, blinking slowly as her brain struggled to make sense of the words that Mrs. Hudson had just imparted to her.

"Yes, but don't worry dear. Their owners were dead already. He doesn't _really_ mean any harm after all. He's just finding his way in the world, just like every street musician who plays in Covent Garden or student at university. I would think you would understand that better than anyone else. Here you are, an American all the way in London for schooling? What's that if not finding your way in life?"

"Well…yes…" Nicky said tentatively. "Although I've never tried to poison anyone's plants or hack up corpses, so I'm not quite sure that I can completely relate."

"Stick around long enough and you will dear," Marie said with easy confidence. Nicky nodded numbly, suddenly doubting her desire to meet her Cousin John. Maybe an email correspondence would have been a better idea…

"Oh bother," Mrs. Hudson sighed setting her teacup down sharply.

"What's wrong?"

"I just realized that I forgot to pick up the rest of my groceries. I found everything on my day-to-day list and forgot to restock the items on my emergency list."

"Emergency list?"

"Nothing for you to worry about dear, just some rainy day items that come in handy when in a pinch. You know vinegar, ammonia, a new steel brush since my old one finally died, some spare yarn, gauze, duct tape, and extra bullets. Perfect for rainy days," Mrs. Hudson smiled briefly before frowning.

"I really should have gotten them earlier," she fretted. "That's the problem with growing older, you become forgetful."

"I could come with you and help you, if you'd like?" Nicky offered in an attempt to be polite.

"Oh no that's all right dear," Marie said quickly. "After all, you're here to visit your cousin and it'd be best if you were here when he finally arrives. No, I'll go and get my items on my own. Here, I'll take you up to 221B and you can wait with Sherlock!"

"Um…"

"Come along, dear. If you're quiet he won't even notice," Mrs. Hudson insisted, choosing to be oblivious to the discomfort Nicky was displaying at the idea of being alone with a man who kept human body parts in the fridge on a regular basis.

"And even if he minds, don't let him bother you too much. You're here to see your cousin after all!" Mrs. Hudson insisted as she led Nicky up the staircase.

"I'm running out for a bit again Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson called through the open doorway, Nicky hovering nervously behind her. "I'm leaving Miss Watson with you though. And do try to not scare her away," Marie warned before literally shoving Nicole through the door.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Nicky hissed, glancing over her shoulder briefly before turning to look at Sherlock. The man had not even glanced up from his microscope at Nicole's sudden arrival. Fidgeting with the zipper of her jacket briefly in agitation Nicole stepped carefully through the room, edging nearer to one of the empty chairs.

"You will not sit there. That is John's seat. He is particular about it," Sherlock spoke up just as Nicole was about to sit down.

"Right, sorry," Nicole muttered, straightening back up. "Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

"Do not speak and touch nothing," Sherlock ordered tersely.

"So just stand here?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what else?"

"Nothing else. Be quiet."

With a remarkable amount of self-restraint (and a small voice whispering in her mind that this man supposedly had a collection of thumbs and had no qualms about shooting in public residences) Nicole held her tongue and settled for picking a spot at the edge of the room where she could lean comfortably against the wall.

She stared idly about the room, taking note of the various items that marked this as an obvious bachelor pad. She had just decided to not question the skull on the mantelpiece when an idea occurred to her. Smirking to herself, Nicky trained her eyes on Sherlock and observed.

"Stop it," Sherlock ordered gruffly five minutes later.

Nicole was silent, continuing to stare at the consulting detective.

"I can hear you thinking from here."

Not a word.

"Your thoughts are idiotic."

Nicole smirked, but kept her mouth closed.

"You are stupid, procrastinate often, have failing eyesight, your major is useless, you've been likened to a nun at least six times since arriving in London, have not had a date in over a year, and your pathetic attempts at fitting in have culminated in your being ostracized by your fellow peers," Sherlock rattled off his observations with a slight growl to his voice. He cast a quick glance at Nicole to see how these hits would impact her.

Nicole's smile wobbled slightly and she unconsciously clenched her left hand into a fist, but she continued to watch Sherlock, not even a derisive scoff escaping her lips.

Frowning, Sherlock snatched his mobile from the pocket of his housecoat and sent off a rapid-fire text before returning his attention to the microscope and slides.

Not ten minutes later the wearied sound of footsteps could be heard coming up the staircase.

"Hey Sherlock, I got your text. What's the emergency?" Dr. John Watson sighed as he came to a halt in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, a small smirk as he observed his flatmate, completely missing the woman in the corner of the room.

"I've been forced to be _pleasant_ with _your_ cousin. She is _your_ family and it is _your_ responsibility to entertain her. Get her out of the flat," Sherlock ordered, sounding more childish than upset as he shot a pointed glare at the young woman in question. John frowned and followed Sherlock's gaze and nearly fell over in surprise.

"Today's Thursday. Oh my God, I completely forgot that you were coming today, Nicole! I'm so sorry and to leave you with Sherlock…"

"No, it's fine. He left me to talk with the landlady. Mrs. Hudson is a sweetheart," Nicole smiled reassuringly, stepping forward and offering her hand to her cousin. John smiled and shook it warmly before glancing nervously at Sherlock.

"So you two haven't been spending all this time…"

"Oh no," Nicole shook her head furiously. "I was talking with Mrs. Hudson for a bit this afternoon, but then she had to run some errands so she left me to keep Sherlock company," Nicole explained with only the slightest grimace. John chuckled knowingly.

"Well it's nice to finally meet you, Miss Nicole Watson."

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. John Watson."

"He's a captain as well," Sherlock called out, still not looking up from his microscope. Or at least not enough so that either of the Watsons noticed.

"Just John is fine, Nicole. And I thought you didn't want anything to do with her Sherlock?"

"I don't."

"So how did you two meet again?" Nicole asked with an amused glance at Sherlock.

"It was on his blog," Sherlock grumbled.

"Oh, you've read it?" John asked, looking pleased.

"Yes, I have actually although I don't remember mentioning it to Sherlock…" Nicole trailed off looking a little disturbed.

"It was obvious," Sherlock grumbled.

"Right," Nicole chuckled, not paying the eccentric man too much mind. "I hope you don't mind," Nicole continued, addressing her cousin. "But I may have upset your flatmate a bit."

"I highly doubt that, Sherlock just doesn't like people in general."

"I like Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade brings me cases. And Molly provides me with the use of her lab," Sherlock pointed out, finally looking up from his microscope when he heard the edge to John's voice.

"And I make sure we have milk in the flat. Yes, Sherlock. We all have our uses," John sighed. "I realize I'm late Nicky, but would you like to go and get some dinner? We don't really have anything here," John admitted sheepishly.

"Oh that's all right, I'm sure you must have already had plans."

"I can cancel them," John offered chivalrously.

"No need, your date already cancelled. Something about having to wash her hair and being more interested in the other doctor in your office," Sherlock spoke up. John flushed and Nicky became very interested in the tops of her shoes.

"I'm not bringing you anything back then."

"I didn't ask you to," Sherlock sniffed.

"You hungry, Nicky?"

"Yeah, sure," Nicky smiled weakly, deciding to just go with the flow and not question these two men's strange behavior.

"Great, come on. There's a pretty decent Thai place around the block. I want to hear about how Uncle Charlie and Aunt Dinah have been doing. And what's this about a thesis?" John asked, opening the door for her and standing aside so that Nicky could exit the flat first.

"Of course," Nicky smiled, relieved to be returning to a situation that she could better understand. "They've actually been doing great. Dad's actually been really busy with his work…"

Sherlock raised his head, half-listening as the cousins continued down the staircase. Raising his fingers into his characteristic steeple formation, Sherlock entered his Mind Palace, reviewing all of the information that he had gathered thus far about Nicole Watson. A quick perusal of the facts and a conclusion was reached after only a few seconds.

Nicole Watson: university student, here on a Student Visa to complete her Master's work in communication and finish her thesis. Interested in using John as a source of information for her work and possibly by extension Sherlock. Topic of thesis: online interaction and its effects. Boring, unimportant. Personality traits: patient, slightly manipulative, thought herself clever, too much like Mycroft for his taste, and otherwise utterly annoying.

With the conclusion that Nicole would most likely be around the flat more in the future, Sherlock quickly dismissed all but the most pertinent information about the young woman. He would at least please John by remembering his cousin's name, if nothing else.


	4. Pleeeeease John?

"That was _amazing_," Nicky declared as she and John left the Dancing Tiger restaurant.

"What, they don't have Thai in Maine?" John joked as they started to wander down the sidewalk. It was late in the evening, the nightlife of London beginning to appear as the streetlights flickered on.

"Well the food was good, but I was actually talking more about the way that the hosts treated you. What did you do for them?" Nicky demanded expectantly, causing John to laugh heartily.

"_I_ didn't do anything. They're old clients of Sherlock's and they remembered me from all the times I've ordered Thai takeaway. The stuff's a lifesaver when Sherlock gets going on a case."

"Is he really as bad as all that?"

"Worse," John shook his head ruefully. "But it's better for him to have a case to entertain himself with than to deal with him bored. Every time he gets Bored he starts shooting things"

"I'll keep that in mind," Nicky chuckled disbelievingly. John sighed, realizing that his cousin would have to learn for herself just how dangerous Sherlock could be when bored.

"So have you thought anymore about what I asked earlier?" Nicky spoke up, glancing at her cousin from the corner of her eyes.

"About following Sherlock and I around? I still don't understand _why_ you would want to do that. You said your thesis was about online communication."

"And it's effects on real-life communication," Nicky stressed. "And _both_ of you are prominent in the online community. You have a strong following with your blog and Sherlock attracts attention with his website."

"Oh God, tell me you didn't look at his website," John covered his face with embarrassment.

"I did actually," Nicky grinned. "There was…a lot of information on there."

"That's one way to put it," John chuckled.

"And he's a bit full of himself. His fan base is interesting though," Nicky commented thoughtfully. "Not as many…_characters_ as yours has, but they've been useful for supporting my theory."

"Are you able to use them though? Don't you have to ask permission before using people in experiments and research?

"They're on the Internet, John. Nothing is private once it's been put on the Internet."

"Now you're starting to sound like Mycroft."

"Who?"

"Sherlock's older brother."

"There's _two_ of them?" Nicky demanded, her eyes widening in surprise and horror.

"Yeah and they both have their…quirks," John said diplomatically. "Mycroft's is knowing everything about everyone and Sherlock's is…"

"Keeping toes in the fridge?"

"Thumbs, but don't give him any ideas."

"Right. Thumbs, not toes, no making suggestions for future experiments, what else do I need to remember for following you two around?"

"Well you should…now wait hold on, I never said you could follow us. And it's not even my decision really, Sherlock's the one doing all the work."

"But you're there helping him, being a listening ear and a voice of support. Think about it, if I'm there I'll be another person in your corner, another person to help you keep an eye on Sherlock and make sure he doesn't go off with a killer cabbie," Nicky said persuasively. John sighed, shaking his head.

"It's a lot more than that Nick. It's _dangerous_. I've been drugged, kidnapped, shot at, and had a bomb strapped to my chest!"

"But you're still here," Nicky pointed out. "You're still working with Sherlock, still writing about him even though there's danger."

"He's my friend. Even with all of the absolute crap he puts me through, he's my best friend."

Nicky smiled and nodded.

"And believe me, he puts me through shite. He'll be silent for days on end, put body parts in the fridge, never pick up milk, start shooting in the middle of the day, playing his violin in the middle of the night, insult anyone that we come in contact with, call me an idiot at least three times a day, and he never understands why that's wrong," John listed, getting on a bit of a roll. "He's rude, childish, _completely_ mental, doesn't admit to fear, will walk into any situation, gets bored easily, never notices when other people leave and then he gets upset when you don't do what he wanted!"

"But you stay."

"God help me, some days I don't know why, but _yes_. I stay."

"Because you care about him. And in his own way, he respects you."

"Yeah, right," John snorted.

"I'm serious," Nicky shook her head. "He really respects you. He's taken the time to read and comment on your blog, he calls you in when he's having problems. He respects you. He just doesn't know how to tell you."

"Nicky…"

"Did you see his face back at the flat when you said that he didn't like people? He looked hurt John, and he started listing all of these people that he cares about."

"Cares about?"

"Fine, tolerates, listens to, doesn't delete from his mind palace, _whatever!_ The point is that you are someone he will never delete."

John was silent, considering Nicky's words.

"You're right," he said finally. "I won't argue with what you're saying. But that's how Sherlock and I interact with each other. That doesn't have anything to do with what you're asking to do. It's not safe for you to follow us around everywhere."

"Well then I won't follow you everywhere," Nicky said quickly. "I'll follow you to the crime scenes where there's plenty of police protection, take my notes, and stay out of your way. I won't follow you when you're chasing down clues unless you give me the okay."

"If you don't want to follow us around for all of the case, why do you even want to come?"

"Are you kidding me? This is a chance to get some _real_ research, some firsthand material! I can actually monitor the differences and similarities between your online persona and who you are in person. Most experts would sell their laptops for a chance like this and I'm getting it before I even have a job!"

"So another experiment," John rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"John, please believe me, I'm not trying to turn you into a lab rat or abuse our family relationship. I just…this thesis is important to me. My _work_ is important to me. But if you really don't want me to follow you then I won't. I won't bother you about it, I won't ask again. But I'd still like to visit you, if that's all right. And I'd like to even meet Harry," Nicky finished, becoming shy as she mentioned her other cousin.

"I think Harry would like you," John admitted. "It may do her some good, meeting more of the family. We always liked when Uncle Charlie and Aunt Dinah came to visit."

"They always said really great things about the two of you as well."

"And as for following me and Sherlock…oh what now?" John grumbled, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his ringing cell phone. "Sorry Nicky, one second."

"Hello? Sherlock? Say it again? Yeah? Right now? Fine, yeah. Okay, I'll get a cab and be right there," John sighed wearily.

"Everything all right?"

"Yeah. Lestrade just texted Sherlock with a case and he decided that this was important enough that it warranted a call."

"Really? Well then what are we waiting for?"

"I never said you could come."

"Pleeeeease John?"

"Nicky, it may not be safe," John attempted one last time to warn off his cousin.

"So it's not safe for me to come with you to a crime scene where there are plenty of trained cops, but it _is_ safe for you to leave me to walk around London late at night?" Nicky asked innocently with just a hint of sarcasm that made John wince with worry. She was starting to sound like Harry when she used to be sober. His older sister did not understand the word 'no' and how it pertained to her.

"Nicole…"

"John, please. Just let me follow you this one time. I won't say a word and I'll stay out of yours and Sherlock's way. Heck, I'll even stay behind the police tape. Just let me come and listen. Please?"

John took a deep breath and opened his mouth before promptly shutting it as his cell phone vibrated in his hands. He flicked it on and read something on the screen before his scowl deepened.

"What is it?"

"You do not wander around, you stay where I can see you, and do not get in Sherlock's way. We clear?"

"Crystal," Nicky nodded, her eagerness slipping under a cool mask of assumed professionalism. "Whatever you say goes. I'm just there to listen and observe."

"We're not making a stop, we're going straight to the crime scene," John warned.

"Fine by me," Nicky smiled, reaching into her purse and producing a small spiral bound notebook. "I always keep paper and pen with me. I'll even pay for the cab."

"Just come on then," John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn't believe Sherlock, sending that text and ordering him to bring his cousin. What was the man thinking? John simply _hoped_ that he would live to regret this, just as he hoped that Nicole's parents would forgive him for so easily agreeing to allow their daughter access to his and Sherlock's insanity.

**A/N I'm sorry that this took so long to update. One of the downsides to having a summer job is having to work during the day when you'd rather be writing. But I'm already working on the next chapter and will try to have it posted by the weekend if not sooner. Also, I'd like to take this time now to thank my Beta reader laureleaf who is amazing and also writes Sherlock fanfict. Shameless plug for her, I know, but she is a great writer and fantastic editor. I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!**


	5. So she's a crazy fangirl?

"Took you long enough," Sherlock commented, looking up from his cell phone as John and Nicky departed from their cab.

"You could have gone ahead without us," John sighed.

"Lestrade likes you better, he will be more agreeable to my appearance if you and your supposedly un-repellant cousin are here with me."

"Sherlock, you _were_ invited here, weren't you?" John pressed.

"In so many words…"

Nicky opened her mouth then promptly closed it.

"Good choice, no words from you, _researcher_," Sherlock said scornfully, eyeing the young woman with disdain as he took in the notebook and pen in her hands, the slight flush of her cheeks, and the way her eyes darted about. "You even keep a notebook with you to make up for your lack of memory and sub-standard observation skills. How droll."

Sherlock turned away from the Watsons and proceeded with quick steps to the tape marked crime scene. Nicky took a deep breath and released it slowly, never taking her narrowed eyes off of the cocky consulting detective.

"Just remember, you wanted to come along," John said quietly, glancing apologetically at his cousin. At his concern she simply rolled her eyes and hurried after Sherlock, intent on not missing out on her opportunity.

"Oh great, the Freak's here," Anderson moaned.

"And it looks like he's training another one," Donovan added, nodding at Nicky.

"_This_ is _not_ one of my colleagues, Donovan. Merely an observer," Sherlock said sharply, lengthening his stride to put more distance between himself and the Watsons. His eyes were already zeroing in on the crime scene, refusing to give more than a modicum of attention to the idiots surrounding him.

"Sherlock, you know the rules," Lestrade started warningly.

"You allow John," he murmured absentmindedly.

"He's your _colleague_, remember? Keeps you in line," Lestrade muttered before acquiescing and waving Sherlock to go ahead to the work. Requiring no further encouragement, Sherlock bounded forwards, circling the deceased and practically frothing at the mouth in excitement. Lestrade shook his head before turning his attention to John and Nicky.

"No reporters," Lestrade said brusquely, eyeing the notepad in Nicky's hand.

"Oh no, I'm not a reporter," she said quickly. "I'm a student at King's College, I'm here for research."

"That's all very good Miss…?"

"Watson."

"John?"

"Cousin."

"Oh. Well, that's all well and good Miss Watson, but this is a crime scene. No reporters or researchers or whatever you are."

"But I wouldn't be in the way–"

"Somehow I doubt that," Lestrade snorted. "I have more than enough on my plate right now with the crime scene and handling Sherlock without adding some uni student to it," Lestrade said firmly before turning away.

"John, please?" Nicky implored quietly, her eyes conveying her desperation for her cousin to interfere on her behalf. With a sigh, John nodded once at her.

"Just stay here, I'll see what I can do."

Nicky sighed and nodded, smiling slightly in gratitude but disappointed nevertheless.

"Hey Greg?"

"Look John, I appreciate family problems, really I do, but I _don't_ have time for this right now. Reporter, researcher, whatever she is it's a bloody inconvenient time.

"Why, what's going on?" John asked, ignoring Nicky's plight and focusing in on the heavy stress and tension in the man before him.

"Sherlock's probably already deduced it, but this is the third time this week that we've had a case like this. Anderson wrote it off, said it was just a mugging gone bad and the first one was. This one though…"

"Right. Last thing you need is an American hanging around."

"Exactly, thank you!"

"Especially one who's good at keeping Sherlock in line."

"Absolutely. Wait, what? I thought there was no one in England other than you and Mrs. Hudson who could manage that."

"Well she's not from England. She's American and she's studying abroad at King's College."

"And she's here to do research?

"On Sherlock

"Psychiatry?"

"Communication actually. The differences between online and off-line personas. She was so excited explaining it that I didn't have the heart to tell her Sherlock's even more annoying in person."

"So she's a crazy fangirl?"

John chuckled warmly, prompting a glare from the sergeants working nearby.

"Considering the number of times he's already insulted her and she's insulted him right back, I highly doubt it."

"So she's mouthy?"

"No, just won't back down to Sherlock. Seems like she can even take him on, although I'm not completely sure on that."

"Inspector?" one of the underlings called from the other side of the crime scene. Lestrade glanced quickly over his shoulder before turning back to John, his agitation riled.

"John…

"She wouldn't even _be_ on the crime scene."

"You're damn right."

"I got her to promise to stay behind the police lines. No sneaking past or anything."

"No sneaking?"

"She even promised to not say a word."

"You sure?"

"She just wants to listen to what people are saying. Just observe," John shrugged as though his cousin's actions were beyond his understanding.

"And no deducing?"

"Not where any of us can hear her. She's writing her thesis."

"And Sherlock doesn't like her?"

"Texted me to come and rescue him from my 'annoyingly insipid cousin'."

Gregory Lestrade smiled and chuckled at that comment. His good humor faded all too fast though and was replaced by a self-hating scowl and sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded once.

"I _know_ I'm going to live to regret this, but fine. _You_ are responsible for her and I'm coming after you if I get demoted because of this," Lestrade warned.

"Thanks mate," John grinned. "She'll stay out of the way, I won't have to deal with upset family, and Sherlock will solve the case. Simple."

"Ha, right. Simple and Sherlock, ha," Lestrade laughed hollowly before turning back to his squad who looked ready to murder Sherlock who was spouting out observations already. John glanced over his shoulder and nodded at Nicky. She beamed at him and drew up close to the vibrant yellow police tape, only stopping when she noticed John's pointed glare.

"John?" Sherlock called.

"What'd you find?" John asked, once he was at his friend's side.

"First tell me what you see."


	6. Well, have fun at the morgue

"We're done here," John informed Nicky fifteen minutes later. She nodded absentmindedly, finishing her note before flipping the small notebook shut. In the short time that she had had to listen and observe she had managed to fill six pages.

"Right, sorry. What did you say?" Nicky asked glancing up at her cousin with a megawatt smile.

John chuckled, unable to resist returning the grin.

"I was just saying Sherlock and I are done here. Sherlock wandered off to do God only knows what, but told me to meet him at the morgue later. Do you have enough for your paper?" he asked, glancing curiously at the tightly clutched notebook.

"I have a start," Nicky nodded eagerly. "Honestly, I can't even begin to thank you enough for this. I thought it would be at least a little interesting, but I never thought it would be so _fascinating!_"

"I wouldn't think I'd go that far. Sherlock insulted a few people, made some mind-blowing deductions, seemed shocked that none of us saw it earlier, insulted a few more people, and went off on his own. All in all a normal case so far," John admitted.

"But that's only when you simplify things, John!" Nicky exclaimed, earning her a few weird glances from the passing detectives and sergeants. Nicky was too excited to notice any of them though and continued in her explanation.

"I mean the way that you interact with the officers is interesting enough in comparison to how you present yourself online. But then there's _Sherlock!_ I mean…online he almost seems to have a sense of humor and then in reality…wow," Nicky shook her head in amazement.

"Dear Lord, she's shaping up to be a right little Freakette, isn't she?" Anderson scoffed as he and Sergeant Donovan walked past John and Nicky. John sighed and shook his head at Anderson's off-the-cuff comment, but Nicky actually froze, her face flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm making a fool of myself, aren't I?" she whispered, her voice so low that John only just caught what she said.

"What? No, Nicky you're just talking about your work!" John protested. She smiled weakly back at him yet shook her head slowly.

"It's fine John. I shouldn't be wasting time talking about it, I mean you were here, you heard all of it, heck you _said_ most of it. I should just go back to the dorms, get to work."

"Nicky…"

"Forget it. Please?" Nicky requested. "It's not important. Look I…I'll see you later John, okay? Thank you again for letting me come and observe. Did I do all right?"

"Yeah Nick, you were fine," John sighed.

"Thanks. So I'll see you later?"

"You don't want to see what happens next? You don't want to observe anymore?" John asked, quirking an eyebrow. Nicky flushed, glancing down at her hands as they twisted idly.

"Well I never said that," she admitted. "I just didn't want to overextend my welcome. Sherlock wasn't exactly thrilled to see me," she pointed out.

"He likes you better than Anderson."

"Who?"

"The idiot of a forensics scientist," John explained, not adding 'the wash-up who insulted you'. It didn't seem necessary.

"I thought that Molly was the scientist?"

"Molly's the pathologist. She looks at the bodies. Anderson is forensics. His job is to go over the evidence and figure out what it means."

"Isn't that what Sherlock was doing though?"

"Exactly," John smirked. "Sherlock makes Anderson completely obsolete."

"It sounds like he makes the entire force obsolete," Nicky chuckled. They had wandered away from the crime scene, John aiming towards St. Bart's and Nicky simply walking along beside him, unsure of where to go next.

"Why do you think they all hate him?"

"They don't _all_ hate him," Nicky protested. "Lestrade doesn't hate him."

"Lestrade still doesn't know what to do with him, sometimes. And frankly, neither do I sometimes. He's like an overgrown four-year-old with some things."

"So why not just treat him like a four-year-old?"

"You think I don't? I have to explain why things are Good and other things are Not Good to him and not strangle him when he acts shocked. I have to make sure he eats, try to make him sleep…I'm his nanny without pay!"

Nicky blinked at John.

"Wow. You have a lot of issues with Sherlock, don't you?"

"What was your first clue?"

"Okay, okay," Nicky chuckled. "Well, have fun at the morgue," Nicky said when she spotted a bus stop at the other end of the street.

"You're welcome to come along," John called out.

"Even though I'm just the researcher?" Nicky asked, smiling a little.

"And I'm just the Blogger and Molly's just the Pathologist and Mrs. Hudson is just the Housekeeper. You're practically part of the club now."

Nicky's smile became full fledged.

"Well when you put it that way…The Researcher. I guess there are worst monikers."

"Yeah, there's always the Idiot, but he doesn't really belong."

"Of course not, Sherlock doesn't have time for idiots."

"At least not the spectacularly stupid ones," John agreed.

"Nah, I don't think he has time for any idiots whatsoever. He just doesn't know a better word to call us," Nicky stated firmly.

"You _might_ be right about that one."

"So what _did_ happen to the victim?" Nicky asked as they walked briskly down the street, St. Bart's quickly coming into sight.

"Victims," John corrected, sighing heavily. "A Mrs. Natterly and her daughter, and by the looks of things they were both poisoned. Poor kid, she looked like she was barely older than eight."

"Oh no," Nicky murmured. They walked on in silence once more, before John spoke up again as they reached the hospital doors.

"Just so we're clear, you don't mind dead bodies, do you?"

"I didn't mind them at the crime scene, is this really any different?"

"Depends on the mood Sherlock's in and how firm Molly is. The main difference though is that the bodies are naked and cut open."

"Oh. Well…yeah, okay then. I suppose that makes sense," Nicky shrugged.

"You sure you can handle it?" John asked

"Yeah, and maybe an extra set of eyes down there will help out."

"Maybe not an extra set of eyes, but an extra bit of sanity won't go amiss," John grinned.

"Well I _think_ I can provide a little more sanity than Sherlock," Nicky chuckled.

"Because that's _so_ hard to do," John muttered sarcastically. Nicky laughed as they walked through the lobby of the hospital, the nurse on duty nodding in greeting to the now-familiar Dr. Watson. John smiled back at her and kept walking to the lifts.

"So what do you think was the cause of death?" Nicky asked as they waited in the lift.

"Poison, although I'm not sure _how_. For the life of me, I can't figure it out. There were no signs of damage on the body. No bruises, no bleeding, no needle marks, no discoloration of anything, nothing swelling, no rashes, no odors…nothing. It's a perfect mystery and Sherlock is walking around like Christmas has come early."

"I take it back, Sherlock is not a four-year-old. There is no sane four-year-old who would ever be that happy about a murder," Nicky shook her head disbelievingly.

"Who ever told you Sherlock was sane?" John laughed as the lift doors opened to the morgue: the realm of Molly Hooper, her sweetness, and her bloody scalpel.

A/N: So clearly reviews are super-charged, amazing fuel for me. I literally wrote this in the 2 days since I last updated, which let me just say feels AMAZING! Thank you so much laureleaf, Ralina, and carorami28 for your reviews. I really hope you and any other reader who stumbles upon this story enjoys what I've got in store next. The next chapter is almost finished and should be up by the weekend.


	7. Oh my God, where's the rest of it?

"It looks like we actually beat Sherlock somewhere for once," John chuckled as they stepped off of the lift.

"Or I am simply around the corner," Sherlock droned looking terribly unimpressed by the cousins. "Really John, if having your cousin around is going to impede our investigation perhaps it would be better – "

"You only got here before us because you ran down the stairs," Nicky interrupted. "I saw you just before the elevator doors closed."

"And Miss Watson continues to be so _helpful_," Sherlock frowned. "If I give you your phone back, will you leave?"

"What? Sherlock, what are you talking about, my phone's in my purse," Nicky frowned.

"No it's not, I have it," Sherlock insisted, pulling the phone out of one of the pockets of his Belstaff and holding it up for Nicole's inspection.

"You have my cell phone?"

"I needed to use it."

"You used my cell phone?"

"Yes. I just said that," Sherlock frowned impatiently.

"But I don't remember _giving_ you my cell phone."

"Of course you do not remember as you did not. Are you always this stupid?"

"But then how –?"

"I took it."

"But when –?"

"Earlier at 221B Baker Street. I am surprised it took you this long to notice its disappearance from your purse. Now are you done being dull?"

"I'm not being dull, I'm just trying to understand what a grown man was doing in my purse taking my phone, that's all."

"Because I needed to use your mobile. John, why are you glaring at me?"

"Gee Sherlock, why would I be mad at you? I mean, you only went through my cousin's purse and _stole_ her phone! Why would I _possibly_ be upset about that?"

"Not Good?" Sherlock asked with a small frown of confusion.

"More than a little, Sherlock. Very Bad, actually, if we want to be honest."

"Oh. I didn't realize."

"That's all you have to say? Stealing things from family is Very Not Good, Sherlock. Go on, repeat it after me."

"No."

"Sherlock."

"John, this is ridiculous. I steal things from Mycroft all the time."

"Mycroft is your brother, not my cousin," John insisted firmly.

"So I am not allowed to steal from members of _your_ family?"

"Exactly."

"Fine then. Although I don't see what the problem is. It is not as though there were anything government threatening or particularly interesting in her texts," Sherlock observed with a shrug.

"Wait, you read my texts?" Nicky demanded, jumping into the conversation before John could tell Sherlock off.

"Yes. I am surprised you were accepted into graduate school if your manner of texting is any indication of your paper writing abilities."

John watched as a small tick developed in her left eye and Nicky clenched her right fist. To his astonishment she relaxed her hand, took a deep breath, and _smiled_ at Sherlock.

"Thank you for the constructive criticism Sherlock."

Sherlock turned to shoot a self-satisfied smirk at John as though to say "see, I did something right!"

"But if you ever look through my phone again," Nicky continued in a sticky sweet voice. "You may find your skull missing."

"You do not strike me as fitting the parameters of a headhunter," Sherlock sniffed in disdain.

"Not _your_ head. Your skull, the one on the mantelpiece at Baker Street," Nicky smiled triumphantly. Sherlock's expression of disdain quickly morphed into one of unbridled anger.

"If you so much as lay a finger on Cromwell –"

"All right, let's just stop there," John interrupted, wedging himself between the two of them. "Sherlock leave Nicky's phone alone, Nicky leave Cromwell in peace. All right?"

"Fine," Sherlock growled.

"Cromwell?"

"My predecessor," John explained. Sherlock chuckled darkly at the expression of open-mouth disbelief on Nicky's face.

"I thought it was fake," she whispered, stunned. "A…a prop…"

"You really do need to work on what little observation skills you possess."

"It belonged to an actual body. Oh my God, where's the rest of it?"

"Trust me Nicky, you don't want to put too much thought in it. Come on, let's go down to the morgue and look at the still-together bodies," John suggested, nudging Nicky gently forward.

"Yeah, the whole bodies," Nicky muttered absentmindedly, practically running on autopilot as she struggled to process this new information. For the first time this evening she began to question her "brilliant" idea to follow John and Sherlock. It didn't matter that her science teacher in high school had numerous skulls on display in the classroom. There was something disturbing about having one on display in a civilian's flat.

Faintly Nicky felt something press into her hand. She tightened her grip and felt the familiar rough back of her notepad and the smooth front of paper slick with inky words. She blinked and looked up to see Sherlock glancing back at her over his shoulder.

"Research," he shrugged.

Nicky swallowed and nodded once. She was Nicole Clarice Watson. She had survived getting her arm broken in the second grade, being dumped in the middle of her junior prom, graduating from undergraduate school cumme laude, and going up in what seemed like a death trap of a plane to fly all the way to London. Dead bodies? Dismembered skull? Bring it on.

"Right," Nicky nodded, muttering to herself. She scratched idly on the first page of her notebook, getting the ink flowing and then flipped to a fresh page. As she walked she began to jot down in her own shorthand what had just occurred. What Sherlock had said, how John had responded, nonverbal language that they had used, what she had said, and how both had responded to his words and actions. Nicky frowned, reading over what she had written as she walked with John and Sherlock the last little bit to the morgue only to come to an abrupt stop.

Sherlock Holmes was staring at the door to the morgue in complete, total, one hundred percent confusion.

"What's the hold up, mate?" John demanded, both of the Watsons coming to a stop behind Sherlock.

"What is _this_?" Sherlock hissed, pointing imperiously to a laminated sign affixed to the window.

"Hmm?" Nicky murmured, shifting to look around Sherlock. " 'Quarantined'? Why would a morgue be quarantined?"

"If they found something in the bodies that was dangerous, a still living pathogen or gas or something, they would have to quarantine the body and shut down the lab. Standard procedure," John explained.

"But I require access to the bodies," Sherlock frowned sternly before reaching into his pocket and retrieving his lock-picks. He had only enough time to place the first pick in the lock when John knocked his hand away.

"Are you daft? The place is _quarantined_! It's dangerous to be in there!"

"It's dangerous to be in the flat on Monday night and yet you sleep peacefully," Sherlock argued.

"Well yeah, wait hang on…no never mind, I don't want to know," John shook his head firmly.

"Probably a good choice," Nicky muttered before raising her voice. "I wonder who was in the lab when they quarantined it."

"Oh God, Molly," John immediately worried.

"Nonsense, Doctor Hooper was not on schedule to work tonight," Sherlock sniffed.

"Well, then what are we doing here?" John asked.

"I texted her to come in. She was supposed to meet us," Sherlock explained before turning to look expectantly down one of the other hallways. Honestly, the entire hospital did a fantastic job of imitating a rat warren.

Almost as though on cue the haggard appearance of Dr. Molly Hooper arrived from the hallway that Sherlock was looking towards, her brown hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and her lab coat barely pulled on properly.

"All right, what is it this time?" she asked, her voice betraying how exhausted she was.

"Right on schedule Miss Hooper, although tonight's efforts may have been in vain. One of the lesser pathologists seems to have contaminated your work."

"Sherlock, I swear if one of your experiments got loose and did damage in there…oh hello, who are you?"

"Nicole Watson. I'm just here to observe these two," Nicky said, nodding her head to her cousin and his flatmate.

"Molly Hooper, nice to meet you," Molly smiled tiredly before returning her attention to Sherlock and John.

"You…Holmes or Watson, I don't care, explain?" Molly requested, covering a rather large yawn with her hand.

"Were you asleep, Molly?" John asked, eyeing her with confusion. His worry about her current state outweighed his confusion at being referred to by his surname. Molly was normally so polite and now…well, it could have been worse. She could have used the nickname the newspapers gave him and called him The Bachelor.

"Yes," she replied shortly, shooting a look at Sherlock. "I was, but now I'm here and I can't get in my lab. Would someone please explain why?"

"Are you well?" Sherlock demanded, eyeing Molly closer. "You are not usually so…"

"Inclined to have a backbone?" Molly asked sarcastically. "Considering that I worked a straight 32 hour shift and you woke me up when I had just gotten to bed, I'm too tired to give a damn about how gorgeous your cheekbones are or how fluffy your hair is." Despite her words, Molly's cheeks did flare a little at this admittance, which Nicky was quick to make a small note of before glancing up at Sherlock to see his response. Beyond a very mild amusement, Sherlock appeared completely unaffected by his pathologist's sarcasm.

"Now please," Molly continued, taking a deep breath. "What is going on here?"

"Your lab's been quarantined," John offered in way of explanation. "We don't know why though."

"Sherlock, what did you do?" Molly asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. Sherlock frowned, stocking this bit of information away. Apparently it was not only John who became short of temper when overly tired.

"Nothing," he insisted. "I have not even had a chance to look over the autopsy reports for the Natterlys yet. I was hoping you would have them ready for me when I got here."

"Even though I'm not on shift?"

"I texted you."

"Sherlock…" Molly only shook her head at the detective before sighing heavily. "Right Doctor Morris was on duty so you can probably just ask him for his notes."

"If the lab's in quarantine that probably means he's in quarantine too though," John pointed out.

"Obviously. We'll have to break into the lab then," Sherlock shrugged indifferently.

"We are _not_ doing that Sherlock," John insisted.

"Well then what do you suggest we do?" Sherlock hissed.

"We wait patiently."

There was a beat of silence before Molly and John broke into laughter.

"What was I thinking?" John guffawed.

"Sherlock? Patient?" Molly gasped, exhaustion taking away her inhibitions and making her laugh even harder.

"Since you are both insistent on behaving as though you are inebriated I shall seek assistance elsewhere. Miss Nicole, how would you get the notes?" Sherlock snapped as he turned to Nicky who had been silent the entire time.

"I'm allowed to talk now?"

Sherlock only glared in response. Nicky sighed, rolled her eyes, and gave the matter a moment's consideration before turning to Molly.

"Doctor Hooper, how are your notes recorded?"

"Beg pardon?" Molly asked, wiping a stray tear from her eye.

"While you're doing an autopsy, how do you take notes? Do you write them down, type them, or record them?" Nicky rephrased her question.

"It all depends on the doctor's preference. I record mine."

"What about Doctor Morris?" Nicky pressed. Molly frowned, thinking.

"I honestly don't know. I've never paid attention before."

"But it's possible that he types them?"

"Of course he types them," Sherlock sighed. "His handwriting is abominable even for a doctor and he speaks too softly for the low budget recorders to pick his voice up."

"So they're on a computer?"

"Obviously," Sherlock sighed heavily.

Nicky raised her eyebrows suggestively, clearly waiting for someone to understand what she was implying.

"Are you suggesting we hack into the hospital's records?" John asked with a frown, his disapproval apparent.

"Not hack, that would be illegal. But _Dr._ Molly has access to all records, right?"

Sherlock smiled thinly.

"Your cousin is not completely an idiot, John," Sherlock stated before sweeping away down the hallway. With a sigh the three began to follow after Sherlock as he made his way to the hospital's computer lab.

"That's as close to complimentary as he ever gets, isn't it?" Nicky observed in a whisper.

"Better than what he said about my lipstick," Molly sighed, watching closely as Sherlock walked in front of them.

The strains of Mozart's Symphony No. 8 in D major began to faintly fill the hallways causing even Sherlock to look around in confusion while Nicky only blushed.

"Sorry, I've got a call," Nicky apologized, pulling her cell phone from her pocket. Sherlock simply shrugged disdainfully and continued walking while Molly and John stopped, nodding at Nicky to go ahead and answer.

"Hello?" Nicky asked, turning slightly away from the two doctors.

"Oh goooood, I was right," a singsong voice chimed over the line.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Oh…just a new friend…" the man on the other end giggled.

"If this is a prank call –"

"I don't think you want to hang up on _me,_ Miss Watson. May I call you Nicky?"

"Look, whoever this is, I don't have time for whatever stupid game you're playing," Nicky snapped. John reached forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, worried by her tone.

"Oh dear, you're just as boring as your cousin John, aren't you? Whatever does Sherlock see in you Watsons, I wonder?" The man laughed again, higher pitched and colder. Nicky felt a chill run along her spine, mentally likening the laugh to that of the Joker's from the old Batman cartoons she had watched as a kid.

"Why do you care about John and Sherlock?" Nicky asked, turning so that she was looking at John. Over his shoulder she saw Molly watching her closely, concern slowly creeping across her face.

"Oh, honey more than _you_ could ever hope to research. Listen Nicky, is Sherlock there with you right now at St. Bart's?"

"We're not at St. Bart's," Nicky said firmly, choosing to lie for all she was worth. John was leaning in closely, trying to listen while Molly had turned to run ahead to catch Sherlock. "We're outside…Sherlock and John aren't even with me, they just left."

"Oh Nicky, you're not a very good liar. Is that deep breathing you being nervous or did Cousin John come to say hello?"

"Oh God," John muttered, stepping away from the phone, a look of horror in his eyes. "Sherlock, get over here _now_!" he hiss-yelled down the hallway. Sherlock lengthened his strides, Molly jogging to keep pace with him.

"Oh dear, no. This won't do at aaaall. I don't want to talk to Sherlock. If I did I would have called _his_ number rather than the one he so very nicely gave me. No, I wanted to talk to you Miss Nicky, but don't worry I'm not done with you yet. I look forward to playing with the newest pet. Ta ta!"

There was a faint click and the call was over just as Sherlock yanked the phone out of Nicole's hand.

"Who was that?" Nicky demanded, her voice shaking slightly. Everything that the man had said and the way he had said it was causing panic to begin to surface in Nicky.

Sherlock ignored Nicky and instead focused on John.

"John?"

"Moriarty," Dr. Watson replied firmly, an angry edge to his words. Sherlock scowled and flung the phone at Nicole. She only barely caught it, stunned as the wrath of the world's only consulting detective turned directly upon her.

"You stupid, _stupid_ girl! What were you thinking, answering that call after I specifically told you not to?" he shouted, his smooth, low voice reverberating sharply through the narrow hallways.

"You never told me anything!" Nicky shouted right back, taking a step towards the overbearing detective. "_You_ stole my phone and never said a word about what you had done with it other than _using_ it. So who did you contact, Sherlock?"

"None of your concern!"

"_Like bloody hell!_ Whoever it was just called me! Who was he and why do I feel like I suddenly have a giant target painted on my forehead?" Nicky demanded.

"Moriarty. James Moriarty. And you do."


	8. A nice way to call me stupid?

Nicky sighed tiredly, rubbing at her eyes as she crossed the campus, a cup of coffee clutched securely in her hands. It had been a long enough night, but Nicky had added to the stress of last night by insisting on writing everything down while it was still fresh in her mind.

It had only been at three in the morning when her roommate had informed her to "shut that damn laptop off or so help me God" that she had finally stopped her work and gotten a few hours of rest. Now she was up and about and wishing that she had never woken up.

The events of last night had been exhausting, to say the least. After Sherlock's disturbing proclamation, John had insisted on all of them leaving the morgue, going so far as to order Sherlock to shut up and dragging him out of Bart's by the back of his coat. John had then proceeded to shove Sherlock into the closest taxi before politely asking Molly and Nicky to join them. They had dropped Molly off at her apartment first; Sherlock gaining a promise from her to email the necessary files immediately.

The ride to Nicky's dorm had been fairly quiet, John's stoic silence only being interrupted when he felt the urge to reassure Nicky that she would be fine, while Sherlock contented himself with pouting after ordering Nicole to allow any unusual numbers to go directly to her voice mail.

Nicky Watson hadn't been sure of what to think of the strange events once she was alone back at the dorm, so she had done the only thing she could think of to help her organize her thoughts. She turned on her laptop and began to write. She recorded the conversations she had heard, the observations she had made, actions, responses, and finally her own thoughts about everything. She had still been struggling to process everything when her roommate had ordered her to cease the endless clacking of her keyboard, and even now while awake it was still too much for her to absorb.

The coffee should have helped, but even the venti cup of Caffè Americano wasn't having the desired result on her level of focus, so she could be excused for not being completely aware of where she was going.

" 'Scuse me," Nicky mumbled after brushing the shoulder of a young woman dressed professionally in all black.

"Quite all right Miss Watson. You aren't going anywhere in particular at the moment, are you?"

"Excuse me?" Nicky asked, turning to look closer at the woman. "Do I know you?"

"No. Come along," the mystery woman smiled then walked towards the curb where a black car was waiting.

"Huh?" Nicky frowned, remaining where she had been standing.

"Gentlemen, I believe she requires your assistance," the dark-haired woman nodded to two men who had stepped out of the car, one presumably to open the door for her.

"This way Miss," one of them called to her, stepping away from the curb with his eyes directly upon Nicole.

Nicky instantly turned to run, only to crash headfirst into a wall of muscle. Her half-drunk coffee spilled to the ground as a third man in a dark suit caught her wrist gently but firmly. Shades covered his eyes, as he discreetly dragged Nicky to the waiting car, "helped" her inside, and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Such a formal kidnapping," Nicky muttered under her breath, glancing around the town car quickly, her thoughts scattering and shifting as she tried to think up a plan of escape.

"Escape would not be wise, Miss Watson," the woman warned pleasantly as she settled back into her own seat and pulled out a BlackBerry, never sparing a single glance at Nicole. "Don't worry, my employer just wants the chance to speak with you. Face to face. You should feel honored."

"Honored. Right," Nicky said flatly.

"Seatbelt," the woman advised as the car drove through London morning traffic.

The two ladies sat in silence, Nicky watching the passing scenery, making note of the passing street signs and landmarks, and occasionally fiddling with her phone while the other continued to give her attention to her phone.

It was only after half an hour's drive that the car finally came to a gentle stop in a parking garage, empty save for one or two cars similar to the one that Nicky was ushered out of.

"He's waiting for you," the woman on the BlackBerry informed Nicky as she was 'helped' from the car.

"Who?" Nicky asked, but her question was cut off as the door shut was shut in her face and the car peeled away, leaving her standing alone. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Nicky looked around, trying to remain calm.

Reaching into her pocket she closed her fingers around the familiar shape of her cellphone, only to release it as a voice called out from the shadows.

"That would be a most unwise decision Miss Watson."

"Who's there?" Nicky demanded.

"Only me Miss Watson, only me," a posh, puffed-up gentleman stepped out of the shadows at last, an umbrella twirling idly in his hand.

"Oh, so now it's Miss Watson?" Nicky asked with a roll of her eyes. "Wasn't I 'Nicky' last night?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't have time for games _Moriarty_. If you think you can get at my cousin or at Sherlock through me then you're an idiot," Nicky insisted brazenly, scowling as the man stepped closer to her. True to her Watson heritage, Nicky never took a step back at his approach, only straightening her spine and intensifying the anger behind her glare.

"You are very brave," he observed with a smirk.

"Was that just a nice way to call me stupid?"

"Well you are acting rather foolishly at the moment. Insulting me before we've even been properly introduced. Such manners you American's have," he tutted. "But I suppose considering the events of last night your lack of decorum can be forgiven. For now."

"I am not James Moriarty. Really that should have been obvious," the man stated firmly with a roll of his eyes. "My name is Mycroft Holmes. A minor government official with an interest in an acquaintance of yours."

"A _minor_ government official?"

"Yes. Or at least, that's what I prefer to think of myself as," Mycroft smiled, but Nicky fought back a shudder as she realized that the smile did not reach his eyes. Brilliant blue eyes that seemed colder than the dark waters of the Arctic Circle.

"I see," she said slowly. "A minor official? Then why the fancy suit and the umbrella?"

"I dress for success."

"Yeah, but it's gorgeous weather out and we're in a parking garage. Why the umbrella?"

Mycroft frowned.

"Nicole Clarice Watson of Ellsworth, Maine. Graduate cumme laude of Brown University in the department of Modern Culture and Media. You maintained a 4.0 grade point average while incurring copious student loans to pay for your education. While maintaining your work you also broke off an engagement to one Thomas Beckett after you learned that he had several affairs with a variety of your classmates. Your _depression_ after the incident led you to an eating disorder, which you struggle with even now. Sentiment really is a weakness my dear, you should strive to rid yourself of it," Mycroft admonished her with a straight face, his tone and inflection never once shifting.

"How…how did you know that?" Nicky whispered, all the color leaving her face as secrets that not even Sherlock had surmised were brought into the light.

"Let's not have you worry over such matters as to how accurate my information is or what purpose my umbrella serves, hmm?"

"You're Sherlock's older brother."

"Look at you, finally putting the pieces together," Mycroft smiled scathingly. "Was it our last name that gave it away?"

"That and a few other things. Your face is more lined than his, but the shape of your nose and eyes are identical. Prominence of the forehead, height, a slight similarity in coloring and shape in ears marks you as related. What you just said though…the way you said it…just like Sherlock," Nicky finished in a whisper.

"You are not an idiot, are you Miss Watson?"

"My test scores would argue against any such accusation."

"I'm speaking of more than mere _test scores_. You have a certain…understanding about you. It has even been brought to my attention that you have already attempted to match your wit against the 'Great Consulting Detective'."

"I'm _just_ trying to complete my thesis," Nicky insisted, some of her fire returning.

"That's not all you are attempting," Mycroft smiled thinly. "There is also the matter of your income."

"I don't _have_ an income," Nicky snapped. "What exactly are you trying to insinuate Mr. Holmes?"

"I am insinuating nothing Miss Watson. I was merely pointing out a concern that I am sure you already have. That of your student fees."

"Why should _my_ student fees concern _you_? And you said something about an acquaintance of yours earlier…just what is going on here?" Nick demanded, the headache that she had been nursing already slowly morphing into a migraine as she continued her discussion with the elder Holmes. She allowed herself a moment to think wistfully of her lost coffee before bringing her attention back to Mycroft.

"Come now Miss Watson, have we not already determined that you have an acceptable amount of intelligence? Think it through," Mycroft prodded.

Nicky swallowed back the curses that she dearly wanted to scream at the creepy older man and settled for narrowing her gaze at him as she did as he ordered, running back over their conversation in her mind and thinking of anyone that they could possibly both know.

"This has something to do with Sherlock, doesn't it?"

"There you go. Amazing, what a little concentration and discernment can achieve, wouldn't you say? Now then, to the matter at hand. You have already noted my familial ties to Sherlock. However, we are not on the friendliest of terms at the moment. As you may have noticed my younger brother has a tendency towards stubbornness."

"A _tendency_?"

"Do not interrupt me Miss Watson. As an older brother, it is my duty to look after him. To see to it that he doesn't get himself into too much trouble, or to at least assist him when he finds himself in need of it. Not that he would ever ask me for such help, but I do the best I can. I am more than capable of keeping an eye on him, but I would prefer more…current information. Do you understand me?"

"I believe so…"

"And of course you would be compensated for your time in observing Sherlock and keeping me informed. I believe there is a scholarship in existence that would suit you most excellently. It would cover your current student loans as well as provide a more than generous living stipend."

"You must be joking," Nicky said flatly, disbelief overflowing in her words.

"I never joke when it comes to matters of business," Mycroft said primly, scrunching his nose up slightly with distaste. Nicky sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"For the sake of absolute clarity, may I speak simply?"

"If it helps," Mycroft shrugged indifferently.

"The way that I understand it, you are offering me money to spy on your little brother, Sherlock Holmes?"

"That's a very vulgar way to put it Miss Watson. It is a business transaction. You would be earning a scholarship and I would be kept abreast of my brother's doings. No subterfuge of any kind. And it would not be a matter of your betraying his confidences. I simply wish to know…oh anything that you think might interest me."

"That still sounds like spying to me," Nicky snorted.

"Call it what you will, it does not matter to me."

"But _you_ want _me_ to spy on _Sherlock Holmes_, possibly the most observant man in the world, who is also insane enough to attempt to break into a quarantined morgue without a second thought?"

"I am not asking you to accompany him on his mad ventures. Merely to keep me abreast of where he goes and what he does. Hardly a strenuous task."

Nicky briefly considered unleashing the full wrath of her sarcasm then thought better of it, taking note of their location and the fact that upsetting a government official, even a minor one, could result in a disaster in regards to her Student Visa, never mind all of the information that he already had on her.

"I suppose not," she muttered, glancing away.

"And do remember that there is a generous living stipend with the scholarship as well. Why who knows? If you invest it properly, pay attention to what is happening around you, and you may find that you will graduate without any sort of debt with a sufficient amount left over," Mycroft added his words smooth as water on silk.

"The holy grail," Nicky murmured, biting down on her lip.

"Indeed. So, what do you say to my proposition?"

"Do I need to give you my answer now? Something like this could be classified as a moral dilemma," Nicky hedged.

"Take all the time that you need, my dear. Do let me know of your decision though."

"How will I be able to do that?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. Clever girl like you, I'm sure you'll work it out. If that is all the answer you have for me at the present, we are done here," Mycroft smiled coldly. "Anthea will see you safely back to the dorms."

"Who?" Nicky frowned. Mycroft gestured impatiently with his umbrella to someone behind her and Nicky turned to see the dark-haired woman from before, still working away on her BlackBerry although she was now looking up at Mycroft Holmes.

"Come along Miss Watson," Anthea ordered, the car waiting quietly behind her. Nicky started to walk towards her then stopped, pausing and looking back over her shoulder.

"Before I go Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes Miss Watson?"

"You…I don't know if you know this already, you probably figured it out yourself but…Moriarty has made contact. Sherlock called him, and then Moriarty called me. Sherlock believes that Moriarty is the one responsible for several recent deaths in London. He's not sure how yet, though. Or at least, he wasn't the last I heard from them."

"And when did you last hear from your cousin and my brother?"

"Last night when they dropped me off at the dorms."

Mycroft smiled like a cat that had caught the canary.

"That was some hours ago, Miss Watson," Mycroft chuckled.

"I realize that," Nicky said sharply, some of her fire returning to her. "I'm sure they've come up with something by this point but if they haven't I just…even if I decide to not accept your offer you seem like a man who is capable of seeing that things get done. People are dying and…and John trusts Sherlock but I've always believed that the more people working on a problem the better probability that it will be solved. Do you understand me?"

"Quite well. You may take your leave now Miss Watson. Good day."

"Good day Mr. Holmes," Nicky said quietly, finally following Anthea back to the car. Both of the women slid in quietly, Nicky needing no encouragement this time. The driver, the man who had pulled Nicky into the car to begin with, smiled back at her and nodded to the cup holder in the back seat.

"I believe it was a Caffè Americano Miss Watson?"

"Yes…thanks," Nicky allowed herself a small smile as she picked up the drink and took a small sip, allowing the warm liquid to help steady herself as the car pulled forward and out into the midday sun.


	9. And possibly murder Sherlock

It was one 'o'clock in the afternoon and Sherlock Holmes was pacing the living room of 221B Baker Street in his bed sheet. Again. John Watson sighed heavily, not commenting on his flatmate's current state of undress as he continued to read the files Molly had emailed. They had been like this all night. Ever since they had dropped Nicky off at her dorm room and taken a cab back to Baker Street they had been thinking and searching.

So far neither had said a word beyond a request for tea or a muttering of something they had found. The rare silence of Baker Street was harshly broken though, when Nicole Watson came barreling into the room. She panted for air, clutching at the doorframe as she caught her breath.

"Nicky, what's wrong?" John demanded, setting his laptop aside instantly.

"I need…advice," Nicky gasped. "And…possibly" another gasp, "Murder Sherlock."

"Have you done anything to warrant getting murdered yet today?" John asked, staring at his roommate in surprise.

"Quiet, thinking."

"Is it really so hard to answer your cell phone?" Nicky demanded; outrage coloring her voice as her heartbeat at last decreased. "I just spent the last hour abducted!"

"That's it, outside now, tell me what happened," John ordered, literally pushing Nicky out of the flat and into the stairway, shooting a glare at Sherlock over his shoulder as he left. Honestly, the man made it impossible to ever have company over, always traipsing about in in his bed sheet. It was embarrassing enough whenever John brought a date home, but to have his younger cousin be witness to 'the sheet' was just demoralizing.

"Now, deep breath. Easiest question first: why do you want to kill Sherlock?"

"Because I did what _you_ told me to do. I got in trouble and I texted and called for help. I called Sherlock the moment I got pulled into the car and I got _nothing_."

"All right, okay," John nodded. "You were abducted."

"Yes."

"And you escaped?"

"No, they let me go."

"They let you go?" John cocked an eyebrow, stumped.

"Yes, which is why I'm out of breath. I ran from the dorm to here," Nicky explained.

"They let you go at the dorm?" John reiterated.

"Yes."

"Okay…who was it who kidnapped you again?"

"First, could you answer this: does Sherlock really have an older brother?"

"Yes…why?"

"Does he have a creepy smile, thinning hair, an umbrella he's scarily possessive of, and an entourage made up of muscular goons and a woman who wouldn't let go of her BlackBerry if her life depended on it?"

"Yep that sounds like Mycroft to me," John sighed, shaking his head disparagingly.

"Yeah, well I was convinced that he was Moriarty at first," Nicky muttered, her face pinching up with fear. John smiled warmly at her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Listen, Mycroft can be an arrogant son of a bitch, but he would never actually harm…or he would never…okay I _really_ can't make any promises when it comes to Mycroft, but he's not an evil guy. He just happens to work for the government and enjoys knowing everyone's business."

"Isn't working for the government and being evil synonymous?"

"Not exactly," John chuckled. Nicky smiled weakly at him before sitting down on the steps of the apartment with a sigh.

"I get it that he's not evil, but John there has got to be a better way of doing 'business'."

"Oh I'm sure there is. But Mycroft is a Holmes and I think I'm finally beginning to understand just how strange the whole bloody family is. A bunch of weirdos whose idea of saying 'hello' is to either abduct you or tell you your entire life story," John said flatly.

"That's an understatement," Nicky muttered. John frowned and sat down next to Nicky, looking at her expectantly.

"It was…scary," Nicky admitted with a grimace. "They got me off the college, even made me drop my morning coffee. They never really hurt me, but I still never had a choice or a chance. And then Mycroft…he was like Sherlock but…you know Sherlock observes, but Mycroft is just plain creepy! I mean, I felt like I was a bird caught in the eyes of a snake."

"Yeah, Mycroft's good at that," John agreed. "Did he say anything else? Anything about the case or about Moriarty?"

"No nothing about Moriarty. He…"

"Offered you money to spy on Sherlock?" John finished for her.

"How did you…never mind. Same thing happened to you?"

"Yep, and this was before I knew that he was Sherlock's unnerving older brother. I still turned him down though. What did you tell Mycroft?"

"That I needed time to think about it and I'd let him know," Nicky glanced down, feeling ashamed. So much for her so-called moral integrity.

"Oh thank God you're not as stupid as I was," John let out a sigh of relief.

"Huh?"

"Take the money."

"But – "

"Nicky, listen to me very carefully. Take. The. Money."

"But he wants me to _spy_ on Sherlock and by default you!"

"Yeah, well he's going to be doing that anyways! You might as well get paid for it! How much did he offer you?"

"He wasn't specific, but a scholarship with a generous living stipend. He even…you know I don't know if he meant it or not but I thought he even hinted about helping me pay off the rest of my school debts. I could have misunderstood though," Nicky said quickly.

"He's got the money and resources to be able to do that," John chuckled. "Take him up on the offer."

"But what about Sherlock? Shouldn't I ask him as well?"

"If you wanted his advice, why didn't you call him?"

"I _did_ call him! He ignored me."

"He never pays attention to his phone when he's on a case," John admitted. "But listen, you know what Sherlock told me when I had my first Mycroft-abduction? He said it was a pity that I didn't take the money because we could have split the fee. Said I should think it through next time."

"So…I should accept it and split the money with you and Sherlock?" Nicky frowned.

"God no! Nicky…Nicole you're a _university student_! You're probably up to your ears in student debts, am I right?"

"I've been really lucky with some scholarships, but…"

"But money's still tight and the job market's ugly," John finished for her. "Take the money and read Mycroft your thesis."

"Huh?"

"Come on Nicky, you're smart. Think about it for a sec…what did Mycroft ask you to do?"

"He asked me to…to observe Sherlock," Nicky said slowly, realization coloring her voice.

"That's what you were going to do anyway, right?"

"Right…so I can just use Mycroft Holmes as a sounding board for my thesis!"

"I wouldn't go that far, but in essence, yeah."

"John…you are brilliant."

"Well thank you, flat-sharing with Sherlock I don't get to hear that too often."

"You are a genius who has just made it possible for me to graduate with money still in the bank…you're practically a miracle worker!" Nicky enthused, heaping on the flattery.

"Okay, I wouldn't go that far," John laughed.

"All right, I'll stop. So now that my crisis is over, what's been going on here? Any new leads?" Nicky asked, the humor leaving her eyes to be replaced with honest worry. John sighed heavily before shaking his head.

"Unless Sherlock's come up with something while I've been out here it's been quieter than a tomb in there."

"What about the reports that Molly was supposed to send over? Haven't those helped any?"

"I've been going over those with a fine-toothed comb and so far nothing makes sense. I recognize a few of the symptoms as pneumonia-like, but nothing concrete, and definitely nothing that would lead to death. Sherlock's about at his wit's end," John admitted glancing back over his shoulder to the closed apartment door.

"Does that happen often?"

"Only on the _really_ hard cases. We haven't had one of those for a while."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"For now, not really. I'm going to go back in and finish reading the report then try and get Sherlock to eat something instead of sitting on the sofa like a lump."

"He may have come up with something and just not said it yet," Nicky pointed out. John shook his head slowly.

"He would have said something by now. Usually when he solves a real puzzler he'll start dancing around and clapping his hands like a kid at Christmas."

"And when he doesn't?"

"You mean when it takes him longer to solve a case than he'd like?"

"Yeah."

"He turns into an even moodier git who won't eat, sleep, but will shoot the walls and throw things at random."

At that moment the distinct sound of something heavy and ceramic could be heard, shattering against the flat door.

"Too loud, trying to think!" Sherlock's enraged voice sent pigeons outside into flight, quivering with fright.

"I picked a great case to start following you two around, didn't I?" Nicky attempted to joke.

"Let's just hope we both survive it and that the flat's still in one piece when all's said and done," John muttered darkly.

**A/N So this chapter and the last kind of took me away from the action of the story, but I promise it's important and we'll be returning to the plot in the next chapter which is actually close to being done. I just need my wonderful beta reader laureleaf to help me with editing and fill a few points in and it'll be up by this weekend. To be honest I'm shocked I got this much written, but I'm not questioning my writing muse, I'm just writing!**


	10. What did he just throw at me?

"It's been a week," Nicky whispered, glancing over John's shoulder and into 221B. The sight before her was…disturbing, to say the least.

"Yeah, at this point you don't want to come in here," John muttered, doing his best to block the inside of his flat. There were fresh bullets in the walls, an unknown substance oozing across the table, jam splattered across the floor (or at least Nicky hoped that that was jam), two bloody harpoons, and jars and platters of what looked to be human intestines and various other body parts displayed at random.

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock," John nodded solemnly.

"Shut. UP!" a hysteric voice screamed from the kitchen.

"Vatican cameo," John muttered.

"Huh?" Nicky demanded, frowning with confusion as she watched her cousin duck to the floor. She glanced up back into 221B only to be met with a faceful of questionable brown gel.

Nicky blinked once, her mouth dropped open in shock as the gel dripped down her face and down onto her jacket.

"I told you to duck."

"You muttered 'Vatican cameo'," Nicky growled, shooting him a glare before raising a hand to her cheek and rubbing some of the gunk away. She glanced down at her hand in disgust.

"_What_ did he just throw at me?"

"I'll explain later. Come on, let's go before he figures out where I hid my gun."

Nicky blanched.

"Yeah, leaving sounds good. I'm sure that Mrs. Hudson will let me clean up in her apartment," she muttered, following John's lead as he headed down the stairs to the beloved landlady.

"Hello dears. What's all the hullabaloo, John?" Mrs. Hudson asked, sticking her head out of her front door. "Nicky dear, what happened to you?"

"Sherlock," the cousins spoke flatly at the same time. Mrs. Hudson shook her head and sighed.

"Well come on in then for a bit. It looks as though you need to clean up before you even think of going anywhere Nicky."

"You know, I'd have to say I agree with that," Nicky mumbled as some of the gook slid further along her face, dripping down to her shoes.

"Oh come on in then, the both of you. You to the sink Nicky, and John I have a few biscuits if you're hungry."

"You're a gem Mrs. Hudson."

"Yes, yes, all right then. What on Earth did you get into Nicky?"

"Sherlock threw this at me for talking too loud with John in the foyer. I'm really not sure just what it is though," Nicky mused as she took the offered washcloth from Mrs. Hudson and began to wipe her face. "Hey John, medically speaking do you think it's safe to have this stuff in my mouth?"

"I'll call Poison Control for you. Rinse your mouth out in the meantime," John advised, pulling out his mobile.

"Oh great, thanks," Nicky said absentmindedly. A moment later she blinked and turned to look at John and Mrs. Hudson in surprise.

"Does that sort of thing normally happen to people who spend a lot of time around Sherlock? You just stop worrying about all this insane stuff like whether or not you may be poisoned or just what exactly is in the jar in the refrigerator next to the milk?"

"You _never_ stop worrying about it, but you tend to question it less," John admitted, shooting Nicky a glance as he waited for Poison Control to pick up. "It makes life right awkward sometimes, but there you have it. Yes, hello? Hi, this is Dr. John Watson, just a quick question, you see my cousin swallowed some…"

"I'm sure you'll be all right dear," Mrs. Hudson smiled reassuringly at Nicky as John wandered out of the room. Nicky wiped the last bit of the goop from her face and leaned against the kitchen counter with a sigh.

"It's not me I'm worried about," she muttered. "All those people…I've been watching the news lately and even the reporters are starting to notice that something's wrong."

"Always the last to know," Mrs. Hudson shook her head sadly. "Although that one from Channel Eleven is quite good. Always so funny and entertaining."

"Right," Nicky smiled tiredly. "I'm sure she's great."

"Everything's all right," John spoke as he reentered the room. "Nothing to worry about, although if you notice you start glowing at night go straight to the hospital."

"What!?"

"I'm only joking. Don't worry Nicky, you're fine," John promised with a kind smile. "Do you still feel like getting some lunch?"

"After that joke I'm not sure," Nicky muttered, glaring at her older cousin.

"Rephrase: please be my excuse for not being stuck in the same room as my insane flatmate?"

"I don't know…"

"I'll pay with Mycroft's money."

"And suddenly I'm starving. Where do you want to eat?"

"That's what I thought you'd say. Care to join us Mrs. Hudson?"

"No, no, go along dears. Although if you're going to that place off Market Street bring me back some chips, all right?"

"Sure thing Mrs. Hudson," Nicky smiled before pulling the landlady into a hug. "See you later."

"Silly girl," Mrs. Hudson chuckled as Nicky and John left, already chatting about John's work at the hospital.

"So that's what Mrs. Hudson needed the steel brush for," Nicky smiled, nodding her head with understanding. "It all makes sense now!"

"Yeah, after the last time we both agreed that it was always better to have extra on hand," John shook his head, chuckling at the memory. "You know, it's funny now, but then it was a right nightmare!"

"I can imagine," Nicky cringed. "All of those car parts and oil and grime everywhere? Mrs. Hudson must have thrown a fit! I wouldn't want to be either of the Holmes brothers then," Nicky snickered.

"Sherlock didn't play his violin in the middle of the night once that week and Mycroft sent us fresh Maharaja Chai Oolong tea leaves straight from India. It was lovely," John sighed longingly.

"I can imagine," Nicky chuckled. They both sighed, sitting back in their chairs, enjoying a moment of silence. The cousins were sitting in the middle of the Thee Nuns Pub, alternating between talking about their work and yelling at the TV in the corner showing an ongoing soccer match.

"I still can't believe you call that _soccer_," John's face wrinkled with disgust. "It's _football_."

"No John, I told you. Football is totally different than soccer," Nicky shook her head empathetically.

"We're not going to get anywhere arguing about this. Americans," John sighed disparagingly.

"Brits," Nicky scoffed. They grinned at each other, chuckling good-naturedly. Their laughter faded though when the sports channel was changed abruptly to a news station. Breaking news: three more bodies found in an alley on the south side of London. Cause of death unknown.

John paled and Nicky shoved the remainder of her sandwich aside.

"Suddenly my appetite's gone," she muttered, biting down hard on her lip.

"Yeah," John agreed quietly, pushing aside his own fish and chips. "Hard to be hungry when…"

"Yeah," Nicky nodded.

"Although, it's not our fault. It's not Sherlock's fault either," John spoke up, his voice sounding slightly steadier.

"I know that, but still…I guess I feel guilty. We have a few pieces in front of us, so why can't we put together the puzzle yet?"

"We just need a little more. Giver Sherlock time and he'll work it out."

"Those reporters don't seem to think we have enough time," Nicky muttered. The broadcast was still going on, supposed experts debating the case and the others similar to it. One reporter was explaining that attempts had been made to get a statement from New Scotland Yard, but all they had received was 'No comment'.

"Those reporters are idiots. To paraphrase Sherlock, they sensationalize even more than I supposedly do with my blog," John snorted.

"And yet the death count rises."

"It's not your fault Nicky."

"Moriarty contacted _me_. Maybe…maybe there was something he said while we talked! Something I missed! If I had just given you the phone, or gotten it to Sherlock sooner…"

"It wouldn't have done any good. Moriarty wanted to talk to _you_. Not me, and definitely not Sherlock. He clammed up pretty fast when he knew that Sherlock was on the way."

"But _why_? Why didn't he want to talk to Sherlock? I thought Sherlock was the one he liked…er, is obsessed with?"

"Because they're similar in how easily they become bored. The only difference is that when Sherlock's bored he shoots the wall and when Moriarty's bored he convinces someone else to start shooting people."

"Most people would just play a Sudoku or waste time on Pinterest."

"Most people don't have an IQ that would make Stephen Hawking feel stupid," John parried.

"Fair point. Is Moriarty really that brilliant?"

"Criminally insane is how I would describe it. Sherlock may be a sociopath, but he's not a psychopath. Moriarty on the other hand…"

"Is a psychopath?"

"More like a sadistic psychopath who may also have a multiple personality disorder," John corrected. "Plus a few other disorders that I can't even begin to figure out. Thank God I studied to be a basic practitioner instead of a psychiatrist. Ergh," John shuddered theatrically, prompting a small laugh from Nicky that quickly turned sad.

"So I should be even more worried about the fact that this guy has my number?"

John's expression crumpled, realizing too late the effects of his words.

"I'm not going to lie to you Nicky, the idea that Moriarty knows about you is not an idea that I like. The man drugged me and strapped a bomb to my chest, and that was just when he was trying to mess with Sherlock. But he doesn't seem to really be focusing on Sherlock this time and that makes me nervous. I don't want him turning his attention on you."

"So that's why you haven't wanted me to come by this last week?" Nicky spoke slowly, her voice soft as realization and fear swept over her.

"Because I didn't want to make it seem like you were really fitting in with us. It's one thing for us to meet on occasion for lunch or something, or for you to even give Mrs. Hudson a call. But you, me, and Sherlock working together? Even if it's just you following us around and taking notes like you did that first night…that's putting you too much out in the open for my taste."

"Oh."

"Listen Nicky, it's not that I want you to hear anything from him, but…have you heard anything from Moriarty? Anything at all?"

"You mean another message?"

"Yeah. Have you?"

"I…oh no," Nicky whispered, snatching for her purse.

"What is it? What's wrong?" John sat up straighter.

"The last three days I've been in class. I keep my cell off then because it's just a distraction and there are all the overseas service fees. Crap, John, what if he called while I had my phone off?" Nicky demanded, her motions becoming slightly frantic.

"Nicky calm down," John ordered, reaching across the table and taking the cell phone from her. "It's not your fault and everything's going to be fine. Here we go," John muttered as the device at last turned on.

"You've missed a call."

"Who does it show it's from?"

"It's an unlisted number. Do you recognize it?" John asked, holding the phone so that Nicky could clearly see the screen.

"Yeah. I do. Play the message."

Not having to ask why, John tapped the touch screen then held the phone to his ear. Nicky stared down at the tabletop, clenching her hands anxiously as around them people in the restaurant came and went, completely unaware and uncaring to what was happening around them.

The message finished and John frowned, setting the phone down on the table.

"What was it?"

"A song…just some bit of melody. I recognized it but…I have no idea what it was," John admitted.

"Maybe I will," Nicky muttered, picking up the phone and replaying the message. There were no words spoken, nothing to indicate who the caller was except for the familiarity of the number. Just a few notes played on what sounded like an electronic keyboard. Nicky hummed along with the song absentmindedly, her eyes closed and her brow puckering with concentration.

"Ring Around The Rosy!" Nicky gasped as the song ended, her eyes flying open. "The nursery rhyme!"

"Nursery rhyme? You mean the one about the bubonic plague?" John frowned.

"Well I don't know about that," Nicky admitted, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "But yeah, the kids' song. Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posy, ashes, ashes, we all fall down," she sang quietly.

"Bubonic plague," John nodded firmly. "It's a bit of old medical history. The song is describing the afflictions, the supposed treatment, how they handled the bodies, and the high number of deaths that London experienced from 1664 to 1666."

"John?" Nicky said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Think about what you just said."

John remained silent as realization slowly dawned on him.

"I'm calling Sherlock."


	11. Not all of us have freakishly long legs

"I'm brilliant John!" "It's the plague, Sherlock."

The two friends spoke into their phones at the same time, the contrast in their voices almost laughable, John's serious and Sherlock's excited.

"How on Earth did you figure that out John?" Sherlock asked, sounding honestly confused.

"Moriarty called," John explained. "Why? How did you figure it?"

"Process of elimination and sorting of information," Sherlock said coolly. "It's what I've been doing the last few days since receiving the complete autopsy from Molly. Even with her findings there was still a great deal of data missing and even more to sift through. The number of deadly pathogens in the world is quite remarkable."

"So you now it's the bubonic plague we're facing then?" John sighed.

"John, what have I told you about making deductions when you don't have all the facts?" Sherlock chided. "I mean really, the bubonic plague? Where did you ever get such a ludicrous idea?"

"Well that's what the nursery rhyme was going on about!"

"Nursery rhyme?" Sherlock queried before sighing heavily over the line. "Is Nicole still with you?"

"Yeah, she's right here."

"Pass the phone over," Sherlock ordered.

"Play nice," John ordered his flatmate even as he followed the order.

"Hi Sherlock," Nicky said with an attempt at being lighthearted.

"Don't attempt to be cute, it's nauseating. What did John imbibe?"

"John hasn't had anything stronger than ice water Sherlock. He's not drunk and neither am I."

"Anyone suspicious tampering with John's food or your own?"

"Not that I've seen, although it _is_ a crowded restaurant," Nicky said patiently.

"If your food had been drugged you would be talking nonsense as well, so_ why_ is John speaking of nursery rhymes?" Sherlock demanded hotly.

"Because Moriarty called and left a message on my phone. It was a song, Ring Around the Rosy and it sounded like it was being played on an electric keyboard," Nicky explained. "He called…it looks like six hours ago, and before you give me hell about not knowing beforehand I've had my phone off all day. Unlike some people I know how to be respectful to my professors."

"Who are undoubtedly imbeciles."

"Shut up Sherlock. If it's not bubonic then what is it?" Nicky demanded.

"Put John back on the line."

"You thought he was drunk," she accused. "And it's my phone."

"Bossy American."

"You don't even want to know what insults I've come up for you, you prissy –"

"And on that note, I'll take the phone," John reached across the table, snatching the phone out of his cousin's hand.

"What did I say about playing nice?"

"She started it."

"Don't care. We're done here, and we'll be back at the flat in a moment."

"More like ten minutes. Your cousin is slow."

"Not all of us have freakishly long legs," Nicky shouted indignantly, not caring that they were in the middle of a pub and attracting attention. She glared at her captive phone as though it could somehow convey her displeasure to Sherlock.

"There is no need for you to return just yet. First write down these words and text them to Moriarty," Sherlock ordered.

"One sec," John requested. "Nicky do you have a pen?"

"Never leave home without it," she muttered, reaching into her purse and procuring pen and paper. "What's Sherlock got now?"

"Text these words exactly," Sherlock ordered tersely. "Pneumonic plague."

"Just those two words?" asked John after he had repeated the words to Nicky who had written them down dutifully.

"Nothing else. Do it now."

Sherlock ended the call and John glanced across the table to Nicky.

"You got that?"

"Yeah. And Sherlock doesn't want us to text anything else?"

"Just these two words," John muttered as he texted. He clicked Send and closed the phone, sliding it across the table and back to Nicky.

"What happens now?"

"We wait. For what I'm not really sure, but I'll tell you what, staying out in the open like this suddenly doesn't seem like a good idea to me," John said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He left a few bills on the table and stood up.

"We're too likely to be targets out here. I'd feel better if we both got out of the public eye. Nicky…"

"Either come with you back to Baker Street or go back to the dorm?" Nicky finished for him with a smile.

"I'm not trying to boss you –"

"You're being family. Overprotective, but well-meaning nevertheless. Come on, let's go to Baker Street," Nicky grabbed her purse from the back of her chair.

"Good choice."

"It's the obvious one. All the students possibly spreading the pathogen around? Hell, for all I know _I_ could be infected with it," Nicky muttered.

"Don't say that."

"John, be real. They knew something was wrong at the morgue so they put it under quarantine. Am I right?"

"That's not what we were told," John said, keeping his voice low.

"But you know that's what really happened," Nicky matched his tone, narrowing her eyes warningly.

"We are not discussing this here," John said, leading the way out of the pub.

"But we will at Baker Street?" Nicky pressed, following him out onto the street. John paused for a moment, considering hailing a cab before deciding against it. His and Sherlock's first experience with Moriarty had involved a cabbie. While Moriarty did not seem like the type to repeat a performance, John preferred to not take any chances.

"Fine, just walk," John ordered.

"For someone who's giving me options about where I go you're being pretty pushy."

"Who says I'm giving you a choice? You interrupted me before I could tell you that I wanted you with Mrs. Hudson at Baker Street until further notice."

"The further notice thing isn't going to happen," Nicky stated flatly. "However, the rest of the day is a definite possibility. I'll keep her company, try a few of the recipes she mentioned, and hear embarrassing stories about you and Sherlock. It'll be great!" Nicky said with false enthusiasm.

"Your sarcasm's showing again."

"Nice of you to notice."

"It's for your own safety, being back at Baker Street."

"Because it's just like Fort Knox," Nicky said sarcastically. "I mean really, is there even a security system in place?"

John opened his mouth to retort then promptly closed it.

"Not that I know of," he finally admitted.

"That's what I thought," Nicky said smugly. Her smugness vanished quickly as she reconsidered recent events.

"It's about more than safety, isn't it?" Nicky asked quietly. Baker Street was within sight, but John stopped to glance back at the frowning young woman.

"Moriarty's been calling me, leaving me messages. He hasn't been calling Sherlock though, or leaving riddles on his website or even on your blog. Not to sound…self-obsessed, but for now I'm the key to staying in contact with Moriarty. Lucky me," Nicky added in a sarcastic undertone.

"That's not self-obsessed. It's the truth. You want self-obsessed, take a look at Sherlock."

"Right," Nicky smiled weakly. "Of course."

"And you're right Nicky," John informed her as they turned onto Baker Street. "At the moment you are our best link to Moriarty. And as much as I hate that, we have to work with what we have. If I didn't think that he would know the difference I would take your phone from you right now and give you mine to use as a replacement until this was solved, but neither Sherlock nor I have perfected our teenage girl voice. Frankly if I have it my way _I_ never will."

"I'm not a teenager anymore," Nicky protested mildly. "Although I don't think I'd mind hearing you or Sherlock attempt to sound like a teenage girl. Maybe even get a recording of it."

"Don't even think about it."

"I'm just saying…" Nicky's voice trailed off as they entered 221 Baker Street. "I think it would be hilarious."

"Right, you know what? You convince Sherlock to do it and I'll give it a try. _No_ recorders though," John ordered as they mounted the stairs to flat B.

"No promises. At least not when it comes to Sherlock," Nicky bartered.

"Yeah, because you're somehow going to convince him to imitate a thirteen-year-old girl _and_ get him to not care that you're recording the whole thing in order to embarrass him later. He'll _definitely_ go for that," John said with a roll of his eyes.

"I'll consider it a challenge. Come on John, are you really telling me that you wouldn't want proof that Sherlock did something like that?"

"I've seen Sherlock as a priest, a ninja, a pirate, and one very awkward incident involving a Mexican hat, a geisha robe, and a mustache that will forever haunt me. Trust me when I say, I do not need any more scarring Sherlock events."

"Do you have any pictures of that?"

"Not that he knows of," John muttered as they mounted the last of the stairs, returned to 221B.

**A/N This is a filler chapter, I can admit it. But it served the purpose of getting Moriarty back into the story and moving things along. Next chapters are in progress and should be ready soon. Unfortunately, I go back to school this Saturday and college is going to have to take priority over writing. But I'm going to do my best to get as many chapters published and partially written as I can this week!**


	12. Fine then, you want the other arm?

**A/N Normally I choose to put any such notes at the bottom of the page, but I feel compelled to say it now that I have absolutely **_**zero**_** knowledge when it comes to medicine. Why I decided to write out a plot point that requires extensive medical knowledge I do not know. Do not try this at homes, I doubt it would ever work, and frankly I don't want to know if it would actually work or not. Thank you so much laureleaf for being my beta reader, editor, and guide to all things medical. You are a true gem and an exquisite writer.**

* * *

"Ah, there you are John, took you long enough. Now will you and your cousin _kindly_ stop dawdling at the doorway and come assist me?" Sherlock snapped from the kitchen. John and Nicky shared an understanding look before moving to do as Sherlock ordered.

John immediately went to Sherlock's side while Nicky hung back, watching closely as John was handed a surgical mask then handed a test tube.

"Does this have to do with the phone call?"

"No, it has to do with the plague. _Do_ try to keep up," Sherlock snapped. John held back his anger when he saw how truly stressed Sherlock appeared. He was sweaty, pale, and for the first time to his knowledge John could see the faintest smudges showing beneath Sherlock's eyes. The man was truly stressed and exhausted. If John didn't know any better, he would say that Sherlock was honestly worried about what would happen if they didn't stop Moriarty.

"What do you need us to do?" John asked patiently.

"Start moving these beakers into the freezer, I need to see how they set. And I need another set of hands. Nicole, come here!"

"What do you need me to do?" Nicky asked as she stepped forward, quickly putting on the mask that John handed to her and sparing a moment to be grateful that her hair was already pulled back.

"How steady are your hands Nicole?"

"Steady enough, what do you need me to do?"

"Hold this beaker and ignore the flames," Sherlock instructed, being surprisingly gentle as he handed the glass container to her. She accepted it gingerly, biting back the question about just what he intends to do to the flames and chose to instead focus completely on the beaker and keeping it (and her hand) from shaking.

Nicky wanted to flinch when the flames increased and became hotter, but Sherlock was telling her to stay still while John grabbed a few bottles from the fridge. Absentmindedly Nicky made a note to herself to drink nothing but tap water while here at the flat, and even then to make sure that the glass she was using has already been properly cleaned out.

"Very good, now bring that tube here," Sherlock requested just when Nicky was becoming consciously aware that the flames were fluttering just below her fingertips.

"Pour carefully," Sherlock instructed and the work continued from there. The three of them fell into a pattern of sorts, John being expected to do the simpler tasks, Nicky handling the smaller equipment, and Sherlock overseeing while handling the truly delicate work.

Five hours later they all breathed a sigh of relief as Sherlock placed the final tray in the refrigerator (right in front of the bowl of toes that had been shoved aside to make room) and announced that the first phase was complete.

"Sherlock, what exactly did we just do?" John asked as he sat down at the kitchen table with a heavy sigh.

"Since St. Bart's is not currently an option we just developed several potential cures for the pneumonic plague," Sherlock answered matter-of-factly.

"Just like that?" Nicky asked skeptically.

"Childs play," Sherlock sniffed.

"And St. Bart's wasn't an option because…?"

"Molly told me that I could not run my experiments there since she had classes to teach," Sherlock actually pouted as he explained this, clearly more than a little put-out at being denied access to his preferred laboratory. "She had the chance to host groundbreaking work and chose to tell me 'no'?"

"It's for her job Sherlock," John said tiredly. "She has her limits. Although why today of all days she chose to reach those limits, I will forever regret."

"You and me both," Nicky muttered. "How long do we have to wait until the cure is ready?"

"Seeing as I have developed multiple potential cures, an hour at the most. Then we must determine which cure I've developed will yield the best results. For now though, we must deal with the worst part," Sherlock grumbled, tearing off his mask and casting it aside as he strode from the kitchen to the living room, throwing himself onto the sofa with the ease of practice. "_Waiting_."

He said it as though it were a filthy swearword, so much loathing in that single word that Nicky halfway expected Mrs. Hudson to appear with a bar of soap in her hands to wash his mouth out.

Sherlock remained still for a moment before turning back to look at Nicky.

"How fond of your current mobile are you Nicole?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to sit up from his lying down position.

"My contract on it will be up soon. Why?" she asked warily, opting to stay closer to the kitchen and away from the insane detective.

"No particular reason. May I?" Sherlock held his hand out.

"My phone?"

"Obviously."

"_Not_ obviously," Nicky snarled. "And knowing you…what exactly are you wanting to do with my phone? Make a call?" she asked sarcastically.

"Text, actually. Several in fact."

"No dismantling it?"

"Not at the moment."

"No seeing how it reacts to various chemicals?"

"I've already completed that experiment."

"No trying to use it to start an electric fire?"

"It is obvious why you are a liberal arts major and not a scientist. No creativity whatsoever," Sherlock shook his head sadly. Nicky narrowed her eyes, but didn't say a word. Instead she pulled the phone from her purse and held it out to Sherlock. He snatched it swiftly from her and she took a step back, crossing her arms and trying to fight back the feeling that he was about to do something monumentally stupid.

Sherlock Holmes did as he had told Nicky. He only used the phone for texting, sending out dozens of messages to presumably different numbers.

"Am I going to wake up tonight and find an assassin at my door?" Nicky asked when she finally had her phone back safely in her hands.

"If an assassin was after you they would not stop due to a mere door," Sherlock sneered. "And _no_. However, thanks to my deductive reasoning we are finally gaining an advantage against Moriarty."

"How is knowing what disease he's using an advantage?" Nicky asked, pocketing her phone and reaching casually for her notebook.

"No need for clandestine behavior, Nicole. By all means, make your notes and observations, humorous as I'm sure they are," Sherlock said shifting his head so that he was staring up at the ceiling.

Nicky sighed and rolled her eyes, but proceeded to jot down notes. John glanced back and forth between his two companions and realizing that he wasn't likely to get intelligent conversation from either of them for some time opted for working on updating his blog.

Silence reigned in 221B Baker Street even as tension began to grow. Only Sherlock remained unconcerned, spending an hour contentedly wandering through his Mind Palace, filing away new information and deleting files that were proving to be obsolete.

Nicky and John were just becoming complacent when Sherlock leapt up from the couch without warning, catapulting himself in a whirl to the kitchen and yanking the vials eagerly out of the refrigerator.

Grabbing one he dabbed some of its contents onto a slide before placing it quickly under his microscope. After a moment of refocusing the eyepiece and staring eagerly Sherlock sat up, a maniacal gleam in his eye.

"It's ready," Sherlock grinned diabolically. "Nicole, what blood type are you?"

"Um…O positive, yeah. Why?"

"Never mind that, come here please?"

"What's up?" Nicky asked stepping closer. The moment that she was within arms reach, Sherlock lunged forward and grabbed hold of her arm. Glancing over it quickly he raised his other arm and stuck her with a syringe.

"Sherlock!" Nicky yelped as Sherlock kept the needle there, carefully extracting blood. She almost struggled but stopped as she saw her blood gathering. The normally infallible twenty-four-year old felt a small amount of bile begin to churn in her stomach.

"Testing material," Sherlock explained simply, finally removing the needle and turning away calmly, as though he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary in that moment.

"Sherlock, are you fucking insane?" John demanded, coming to Nicole's side in an instant. Sherlock blinked once at him in confusion.

"I required a blood type to work on. I know from previous research that John's blood type is B positive and mine is AB. Neither compatible to the research, and neither are the blood type most likely to be had by Londoners. It truly is splendid luck that you are the perfect blood type Nicky."

"You could have just asked," Nicky muttered, keeping a hand over the small puncture wound.

"Element of surprise, now be quiet. Go ahead and put a bandage on her, although I may need more blood," Sherlock warned his friend even as John had begun to move Nicky's hand aside and wrap a gauze bandage carefully around her wrist.

"Sherlock, I ought to murder you," John growled, continuing to hover worriedly around his cousin even as he glared death at his flatmate.

"Would you prefer that I inject your cousin with the pneumonic plague in order to better test which antidote will work the best? No? Then stop worrying. She'll be fine."

John shook his head in disgust, for once in his life at a loss for insults. He opted to instead make sure that Nicole's bandages were on tight enough.

"Do you feel lightheaded? Need to sit down?"

"I'm…I'm fine John, he didn't take too much blood," Nicky muttered, swallowing thickly. Despite her protests, John still made her sit down and got her a fresh glass of water.

"It's all we've got at the moment," he said apologetically. "I haven't had a chance to visit the shops recently."

"It's fine, thanks," Nicky obediently drank the entire glass. They sat quietly, John glaring and Nicky watching as Sherlock worked over his microscope, occasionally taking the different vials that he had removed from the refrigerator and using little droppers to move liquids here and there. Three hours later his head popped up from the microscope, turning to Nicky.

"I need more blood," Sherlock spoke up his eyes upon Nicky.

"Once should have given you plenty Sherlock," John argued tiredly.

"You _know_ that is not true John. You are allowing sentiment to confound your reason."

"She's my cousin and this isn't a hospital and you're not a doctor. You can't just take her blood whenever you please!" John snapped.

"Then _you_ draw the blood if it makes such a difference."

"John," Nicky attempted to interrupt.

"Sherlock, when's the last time any of that equipment was sterilized? Blood diseases aren't _games_."

"John!"

"What?"

"John, listen to me. It's just a little blood," Nicky said calmly. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes it is Nicky. It is when he's not even asking," John insisted. "It is when he's not following proper procedures and putting _you_ at risk for something that may not even work."

"But he's not putting me at risk," Nicky stated firmly. "It's just a little blood, right Sherlock?"

"Of course. I just need a larger sample source to infect."

"Fine then, you want the other arm?"

"Perfection."

* * *

It could never be said that Sherlock was not methodical in his work. After Nicky's fifth blood donation John had put his foot down on her leaving the flat and going to see Mrs. Hudson. Marie Hudson had proceeded to throw a small fit on Nicky's behalf (never mind Nicky's protestations that she was perfectly fine, just a little hungry) and had insisted that she stay for dinner and not return to 221B. John had returned to the flat to find Sherlock still glued to his microscope and checking his different slides, not at all concerned for the girl he had withdrawn over a pint of blood from.

John had attempted to ask Sherlock if he required any further assistance, but before he could even finish the question had been promptly told to shut up.

Not needing to be told twice, John retreated back downstairs to join Nicky and Mrs. Hudson for dinner. By that point it had become so late that both Mrs. Hudson and John insisted that Nicky stay the night. So with a few extra blankets Marie's couch was transformed into a suitable makeshift bed and John returned to his room, moving quietly so as to not disturb the still working detective.


	13. Lovely, now I'm accepting bribes

Nicky didn't even think twice about it when Anthea appeared before her the next morning on the street outside 221B Baker Street.

"Long time no see Anthea, how have you been? No answer? Let me guess, Mr. Mycroft Holmes wants to see me?" Nicky asked, barely managing to stifle back her yawn.

"Yeah," Anthea smiled before nodding to the waiting black town car behind her. "Coming along calmly this time?"

"It's been a long day…er, night. Being calm sounds nice," Nicky sighed, falling into step behind Anthea. She slid into the car and leaned her head back.

"So where to this time? Another abandoned building?" Nicky asked with a light grin.

"Your powers of observation are deplorable Nicole. You really must work on that," the familiar, posh baritone voice of Mycroft Holmes came from the other side of the car.

"And you're already in the car. Brilliant, that saves me some time," sighed Nicky, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling of the car.

"New bandages? My, my, you have been a busy girl."

"I realize you said I didn't have to go along with your brother's antics, but did you know that he is a very skilled manipulator? Family trait I presume?"

"You have already been reimbursed for your work," Mycroft said smoothly, ignoring her questions. "The beginnings of your scholarship have been placed into your account and I have taken the liberty of adding a bonus to it. I suggest you buy yourself a new mobile with your income. I would be happy to take the old one off your hands."

"Thank you. I was just thinking earlier that I needed to be getting a new one," Nicky said, handing over her cell phone. "Too many unwanted phone calls for my taste, I'm sure you'll find a better way to handle them than I have."

"In that case, let me save you some time," Mycroft smiled like a cold fish as he took Nicky's phone and handed her a new one, still in the box.

"Lovely, now I'm accepting bribes," Nicky muttered.

"Compensation. You did give up your blood for a country not your own."

"People are people, no matter where they're from," Nicky shrugged indifferently. "It was the right thing to do."

"I can think of a number of philosophers who would enjoy arguing with you as to whether or not you are correct in that assumption," Mycroft spoke in such a manner that it was clear to Nicky that _he_ was one who would argue her. She decided to not push the point.

"Well I won't be arguing with them. I'd rather not have anyone know, if it's all the same to you."

"No one? You do not wish to be hailed as the _hero_ of Great Britain?" Mycroft smiled sarcastically.

"I'm not working to develop a cure, that's Sherlock. I was just a blood donor. He's brilliant, you know he really should be working in a laboratory developing more of these," Nicky commented conversationally.

"For your sake I hope you did not tell _him_ that," Mycroft chuckled. "He would take it as quite the insult."

"I gathered that," Nicky muttered with a sigh. "For someone who loves his ego, he's rather shy about public acknowledgement."

"And if you were in his shoes, you would desire acknowledgement for your deeds?" Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows in calculating amusement.

Nicky snorted contemptuously.

"Please, if my parents found out about _half_ of the things I've done since being in London, never mind if I did a quarter of what Sherlock does, they would be attempting to drag me home while simultaneously murdering John and Sherlock.

"Really?"

"Yes, and _yes_ your records are correct, my parents are your basic pair of working-class Americans. _Not_ a real threat. I'm allowed to exaggerate every now and then," Nicky narrowed her eyes in an attempt to be threatening. It really would have worked better if she wasn't attempting to threaten Mycroft Holmes.

"You've been doing your research."

"More like talking with John. He knows that I meet with you, by the way. Actually insisted on me doing this," Nicky smiled a little at the memory.

"Interesting man, John Watson. But I did not bring you here to discuss your cousin."

"No, you brought me here to discuss _your_ brother. So what is it that you're wanting to know today, Mr. Holmes? His every action since the last time we met? What he's been eating? What chemicals he has mixing upstairs?"

"He is eating?" Mycroft asked, and for the first time a small bit of the inner Mycroft broke through as he leaned forward with interest.

"Yes. It was just a bit of soup the other day, and Mrs. Hudson insisted on it. Honestly, I think if he hadn't eaten the soup willingly she would have 'borrowed' an IV and force-fed him the soup."

"I can imagine."

"John also mentioned that he fell asleep at the microscope the other day. It was only for a few hours, and when he woke up he sat up like he'd been electrocuted and muttered something about his 'transport'," Nicky also recalled. "That's all I have for now, if you want more you need to be specific in your request."

"No, that shall do for now. I take it you have had a long night?"

"Mothering hens, the lot of them," Nicky muttered.

"I suppose thanks to your familial ties to Dr. Watson, Mrs. Hudson sees you as part of the…Baker Street Bunch."

"Was that a joke?" Nicky asked skeptically.

"I never joke," Mycroft glowered at the young woman.

"Right…" Nicky nodded slowly. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it. My dorm bed's better than Mrs. Hudson's couch."

"I am surprised that they did not have you join them in their flat," Mycroft expressed what could pass as mild interest.

"John was convinced that Sherlock would try to take even more blood while I was sleeping," Nicky rolled her eyes. "He's not_ that_ bad."

"Your cousin speaks with the wisdom of experience. It would be prudent if you followed his example," was all that Mycroft had to say on that matter.

"Was there anything else you wished to tell me?" Mycroft asked as the car continued to glide through mid-morning traffic.

"Yes, actually. After you drop me off wherever it is that you're taking me you'll probably want to go back to Baker Street. Sherlock's close to curing the pneumonic plague, but he's a nightmare when it comes to public relations and hospital procedure. You on the other hand probably know how to get that cure out to people without causing massive panic."

"You are correct in that assumption, but what makes you think that my brother will accept my assistance?"

"He will if he doesn't know about it. I text John with my new phone, and when the cure is done he's ready and waiting for you with it. John hands it off, Mrs. Hudson holds Sherlock off while the trade's going on, and you can threaten your brother with knighthood. Everybody's happy."

"And you accuse my brother of being a manipulator? You have a very creative mind, Miss Watson."

"First I lack originality, now I'm creative. Can't you Holmes make up your minds?" Nicky muttered under her breath.

"So you will text your cousin, or must I?"

"You probably should since you have his number. Unless of course, it's preprogrammed in my new phone," Nicky glanced down at the package in her hands.

"Of course it is," Mycroft sniffed.

"Right, my mistake. Big Brother is always watching," Nicky rolled her eyes. Mycroft narrowed his eyes warningly.

"Never mind, I shall take care of matters. How much further are we from King's College?" Mycroft asked, glancing over his shoulder to the driver.

"Under five minutes sir," the driver responded promptly.

"Good. Miss Watson is most definitely…not herself," Mycroft said clinically. "My advice to you, Miss Watson, is that when we arrive at your dormitory you remove yourself to your room and spend the rest of the day sleeping. You appear to be in great need of your facilities."

"I'm a college student, I'm _used_ to having all-nighters. I'm just not used to having the threat of a psychopath hanging over me," Nicky snarled.

"So you require more money?"

"That's not…ugh, you Holmes," Nicky sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She glanced out the windows of the car and sighed heavily. "Just forget I said anything, _Mr. Holmes_. We're here, and I will happily relieve you of my presence. Have a nice day," Nicky grumbled as the car came to a spot.

Mycroft and Anthea could vaguely hear her as she exited the vehicle, grumbling something that sounded vaguely akin to "stupid bureaucrats and their stupid money".

"Put a tail on her," Mycroft ordered Anthea softly as the car slid back into traffic, heading for 221B Baker Street.

"Already done sir."

* * *

**A/N Hello everyone! Normally I don't leave Author's Notes, but in this case the situation seemed to warrant it. For those of you who have visited my home page you'll know that I am back at school and therefore one hundred percent insanely busy (I've heard junior year is hard, but this is just ridiculous!). I haven't been able to do a lot of writing lately, but I'm going to try and change that. Updates may be sporadic, but I promise that they will happen. I will not abandon this story! (Of course my best friend also won't let me, but that's a whole other issue) Reviews and comments are always welcomed, though. I've never published a story before, especially one this long, and getting feedback would be wonderful. Thanks, and I'll try and get the next chapter up sometime next week.**


	14. I slept, I wanted food, here I am

"No Nicky today?" Lestrade commented as Sherlock and John came into his office at the Yard. It was the day after Sherlock had his almost completed cures stolen from him. He was still fuming about that, although John and Mrs. Hudson were playing the fools and claiming to have no idea what he was talking about. Mycroft's texting "thank you" nearly did him in, but thankfully (for John) Lestrade had called them in asking for help with another case.

"She's back at the dorm sleeping last night off," John shot a dirty look at Sherlock before smiling at Lestrade. The good DI simply shrugged, unsure of just what the duo before him was talking about.

"And you are _still_ going on about that?" Sherlock sighed heavily. "If we are done with the so-called social niceties might we resume working?"

"No bodies this time," Lestrade warned, his good humor rolling away as he turned to the file on his desk. Picking it up he passed it to Sherlock and leaned back against his desk with a sigh. "Just a bomb threat."

"Is that even your division?"

"Higher ups are hard pressed and someone must have heard that I'm on speaking terms with Hatman and Robin, the 'Net Tec and his blogger," Lestrade chuckled. Both John and Sherlock shot him angry glares.

"Either way," Lestrade went on before either of them could verbalize their displeasure at the nicknames. "We've got a bomber and it's looking like someone you two are familiar with."

"Moriarty," Sherlock said firmly.

"Right. And based off what I've seen and what I've heard from the two of you I don't want my people ending up tied to Semtex. The last thing any of us need is this escalating again."

"How do you know Moriarty's behind the threat?" John frowned.

"He left us a message," Lestrade sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as though that would somehow erase the dark circles that a week of near-sleepless nights had created.

"Can we hear it?"

"Yeah here," Lestrade said, pressing a button on a machine on his desk. Sherlock and John were silent as the all-too familiar sound of Moriarty's laugh filled the room.

_"Hi boys! Sherlock, why did you have to go and ruin my fun with Nicky-girl? All I wanted was a new play toy. You're so bad at sharing. Oh well, maybe it's because you never had a childhood. Let's play a new game, shall we? Guess this song."_

A melody began to play. Sherlock frowned at the player, not recognizing the music.

"Brings back memories doesn't it? "London Bridge"," Lestrade laughed without any humor.

"Okay, I'll state the obvious then. Does that mean that Moriarty's aiming to blow up London Bridge?" John asked tiredly.

"Of course not," Sherlock spoke up quickly, eager to reestablish himself as the expert in the room. "Don't be ridiculous."

"All right then, Mr. Know-It-All," John said sarcastically. "_What_ is Moriarty going to blow up then?"

"The title is too apparent. The clue is in the song, obviously. Now be quiet and let me think," Sherlock ordered, bringing his hands together in his signature thinking pose. He began to gesture through the air, fingers twitching, and brow furrowing as Lestrade and John looked on in amusement. He stopped suddenly and turned to glare at them.

"Turn around. Your thoughts are too loud," he ordered.

"Sherlock…"

"Turn. Around."

"Fine, fine," the two gentlemen groused, giving in to the overgrown baby's demands. They had only just turned away when Sherlock let out a shout of triumph.

"Of course! Perfectly obvious! Come along John," Sherlock ordered, leaping forward and grabbing the doctor by the sleeve of his coat.

"What, that's it? Where are you two running of to?" Lestrade shouted as the door swung shut behind the detective and blogger. "Sherlock!"

"You just love torturing him, don't you?" John asked with a shake of his head.

"Whatever do you mean John?" Sherlock frowned.

"Waltzing in and waltzing back out without a care in the world. So where are we heading this time?"

"First a stop at Pret a Manger then we shall see," Sherlock said mysteriously as they cleared Scotland Yard and looked out upon the bustling street of early morning London traffic.

"And what exactly is at Pret a Manger?" John asked skeptically as they walked along the sidewalk, Sherlock for once not darting out like a madman into the street. The consulting detective ignored John's question and instead lengthened his stride down the street.

Not ten minutes later the small café came into sight and Sherlock at last slowed down, a triumphant smile on his face as the very person he was expecting exited the eatery, a receipt in her pocket and a bottle of water clutched in her hands.

"And here is our target," Sherlock said smoothly, cutting into Nicole Watson's path.

"John? Sherlock?" the young woman asked in surprise.

"Nicky, I thought you were staying home and resting!" John chastised, eyeing his cousin critically.

"I slept, I wanted food, here I am," Nicky said dryly. "The stuff they sell on campus really should be outlawed. Do you think Mycroft would mind if I mentioned that to him next time he wants to chat about Sherlock?"

"Now is not the time for hilarity, even your liberal arts brand. We are on a case," Sherlock said promptly before continuing to walk down the street. The two Watsons stayed where they were, watching him for a few moments before he finally stopped to look back at them.

"Well, aren't you coming?" the tall detective demanded.

"I didn't realize I was supposed to follow," Nicky said cheekily.

"I said that we have a case. You wish to continue working on your thesis, do you not?"

"Sherlock she had three pints of blood drawn for goodness' sake. Three pints that _you_ drew, might I add," John griped. "She doesn't have to come with us."

"Who said I didn't want to come?" Nicky frowned. "I was just wanting to be certain that Sherlock wouldn't throw me out if I tried to follow you two."

"Nicky…"

"Really John, you are doing a remarkable impression of a mothering hen. Is it not obvious that Nicole has slept for over fifteen hours, consumed a prodigious lunch and has consumed copious amounts of water? All per doctor's orders I would gather. She is more than capable to keep up with us," Sherlock rattled off in his quick manner.

John shot a questioning gaze at Nicky who simply shrugged in response.

"When he's right, he's right. Now what's the matter? Sherlock looks like he's practically biting at the chain to get to…wherever it was you were going."

"Talk and walk," Sherlock ordered taking off down the sidewalk once again. "Plebeians," he muttered just loud enough for the two Watsons to hear.

"Don't be rude Sherlock," John admonished. "Sorry Nicky."

"Don't be. Believe me, I've heard worse. If that's the best insult that the Great Sherlock Holmes can come up with right now then whatever you're working on must be big. So come on, what's the story?" Nicky demanded as the three finally began walking down the street, Sherlock striding quickly in front of them with John and Nicky following at a slightly more leisurely pace, although still faster than the average pedestrian.

"Lestrade got a call from Moriarty this morning at the precinct."

"Dead body already?"

"No…potential for them though."

"Same as last time?"

"Not the same method, but yeah. Sherlock's biggest fan isn't one for repeating performances. He just likes to have a bigger stage," John growled.

"Bigger stage, huh? So where are we headed?"

"At the moment I don't know because Mr. Never-Explains-Himself hasn't deigned to share that information with the lowly peasants yet," John called ahead sarcastically. "Never mind the perfectly good suggestion I gave that would have us going _in the opposite direction_."

"I told you already John, London Bridge is too obvious a location," Sherlock called back arrogantly.

"But the _song_," John insisted, catching up to Sherlock. "You heard the nursery rhyme clear as day, same as me."

"So the clue was London Bridge?" Nicky asked, following closely behind them.

"Yeah, Moriarty played it when he called New Scotland Yard. Also mentioned Sherlock doing something to you," John added, glancing back to her. Nicky and Sherlock both rolled their eyes at John's concern.

"I simply made it so that her mobile was no longer a wise choice for Moriarty's communication needs. Not that it does any good since she excepted Mycroft's bribe," Sherlock added with a shrewd look of his own directed to Nicole.

"It was compensation," Nicky protested. Sherlock smirked.

"I'm sure. Regardless, your new number is useless and there are so many bugs on your phone that I really ought to dispose of it for you."

"You already cost me one phone, don't even think about it," Nicky warned.

"Your phone is safe for now," Sherlock said dismissively. "If you are coming stop wasting my time. We must reach Buckingham Palace before it is too late."

"And why exactly are we rushing to the palace?" John demanded.

"The end of the song John!" Sherlock fairly shouted. "What is the end of the song?"

"Oh, um, 'take the key and lock her up'?"

"Very good John."

"Well wait, who's 'her'?"

"Think John!"

"The queen?" Nicky guessed.

"Exactly. Nice to see that the Watson genetics are not completely overrun with stupidity."

"Was that a compliment?" Nicky asked John.

"I wouldn't put too much thought into it," John advised, lengthening his stride a bit as Sherlock rushed ahead into the street, paying no mind to the racing taxis and thundering trolleys.

"So wait," Nicky gasped after coming out safely on the other side of London traffic. "If the clue leads to Buckingham Palace and the queen, does that mean – "

"That she is in danger? Oh what a sound deduction Miss Watson. Practically brilliant if it wasn't for your need to be babied to the answers," Sherlock said sarcastically. Nicky opened her mouth to deliver an equally biting retort when her new cell phone started to ring.

"Hello?" she answered, vaguely recognizing the number.

"You are going the wrong way," Mycroft's cool voice came over the line.

"Too early in the day for this Mycroft, shall I simply pass the phone to Sherlock and save us all some trouble?" Nicky asked with a roll of her eyes. Not even waiting for Mycroft's reply she held the phone out to Sherlock who snatched it with an impatient sneer.

"Using a child to get through to me. How original Mycroft."

"Child!"

"You wouldn't answer your phone regardless. Stay out of this one Sherlock, that's an order. You're going the wrong direction regardless, do you honestly think that _anyone_, much less Moriarty, would be capable of sneaking a bomb within a mile of Her Majesty. I am _always_ watching," Mycroft said seriously.

"Well then where would you suggest we look?" Sherlock demanded snidely.

"What part of 'stay out of this' is unclear to you brother dear? Despite Lestrade's assumptions, none of this is your concern. Stay. Out. Of. It," Mycroft snarled before ending the call. Sherlock tossed the phone back to Nicky with barely a second glance.

"Change of plans, we're not going to Buckingham Palace," Sherlock grimaced, his fingers clenching into a fist as vexation at his brother and himself flooded his system. Sherlock _hated_ when he was wrong. _Especially_ when Mycroft was involved. He strove to keep such occurrences from _ever_ happening, but when they did…oh, it was even worse than when he was bored.

"What next then?"

Sherlock was silent, seemingly staring at the street and it's pedestrians, yet John knew that he was thinking, trying to find an answer to Nicky's question.

"We shall visit the Bridge," Sherlock said with resignation, nodding once before taking off at a run.

"He's insane," Nicky marveled.

"Save your breath, come on Nicky," John called over his shoulder, having started off at a jog almost immediately. Hell bent on not being last in a race with men _at least_ ten years older than her Nicky took off, pacing herself even as she caught up with her cousin and his friend.

Finding her pace and realizing that she still had breath to spare (as well as no desire to race ahead since she _still_ wasn't that familiar with London) Nicky fell upon a tactic that was sure to get the guys moving even faster. Edging closer to Sherlock, she turned to call over lightly to him.

"Who was wrong?"

"Nicole Watson," Sherlock growled, his eyes almost letting off sparks of anger.

"No Sherlock, try again," Nicky continued to tease.

"Shut up," Sherlock demanded before increasing his pace and taking the lead once more. John shot Nicky a dry look as he struggled to catch up with the detective.

"Not likely," Nicky grinned to herself as she ran along after Sherlock and John, dodging past the odd tourists, adrenaline thundering through her veins.

Plagues and bomb threats weren't what she had been expecting when she had asked to shadow John and Sherlock. _This_ though, chasing about through London, racing the clock, and being a part of something that would give her parents a complete heart attack, _this_ is what she was dreaming of helping to do. The thesis was all well and good, and it would be _the greatest fucking thing her professors had ever read_ when she was done with it, but for right now? _This_ was what she wanted and needed to do. God help her, being an adrenaline junkie must run in the Watson family and Sherlock was proving to be the perfect dealer.


	15. That American enough for you?

"Where should we start?" Nicky asked while John struggled to catch his breath next to her, leaning against the railing as they stood on the Great Bridge.

"Be quiet," Sherlock ordered, coming to a standstill in the middle of the sidewalk for the first time since they had taken off down at the restaurant. "I have to think."

"Be quiet in a public place where everyone's making noise. Drags me along without even giving a reason why. Detectives," Nicky muttered darkly.

"Shut up. Now, was there anything else to the rhyme?" Sherlock demanded, glancing briefly at John.

"How the bloody hell should I know!" John gasped, glaring at the detective as the crowds of tourists and Londoners milled past them.

"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady," Nicky muttered the words to herself, repeating the line again and again.

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?" Sherlock frowned at Nicky before adopting a puzzled expression. "And then what?" he asked.

Nicky held back from rolling her eyes (barely) and took a deep breath, closing her eyes and attempting to focus her thoughts.

"I thought I was suppose to be quiet?" Nicky challenged.

"Just think!" Sherlock snarled, getting up in her face as his impatience grew

"I'm trying!" Nicky snapped, opening her eyes to glare up at the consulting detective. "But I _can't_ remember!"

"You can't remember a children's simple nursery rhyme? What good are you?" Sherlock taunted.

"Maybe I'd be able to think better if I didn't have a six-foot toddler yelling at me!"

"Your ability to think should not be affected by situation or surrounding stimulus," Sherlock scoffed.

"Then why does _everyone_ have to shut up just so _you_ can go to your bloody Mind Palace?"

"_Because_ my mind is of a more advanced caliber than that bit of fluff taking up residence between your oversized ears."

"Oh, _this_ coming from the _git_ that can't even remember the _bloody solar system_!?" Nicky shot back.

"Would you _stop_ trying to be British? Your attempt at an accent is atrocious!" Sherlock snarled, his anger at being unable to think of what to do next heightened by this potential opponent in front of him.

"Bugger off!" Nicky screamed back.

"The both of you shut up right now or I'll push you BOTH off this sodden bridge!" John threatened, moving in between the combatants and forcing them to both take a step back. By this point the group had gained more than a small amount of interest, tourists and Londoners alike stopping to stare at the Brit and the American going at it on London Bridge.

"There are lives at stake and you two are having a piss match and it just needs to _stop_," John commanded, addressing them clearly in his "Captain Watson" voice.

"Sherlock, it is _not_ Nicky's fault that none of us can remember the stupid rhyme or figure the clue out. Stop taking out your anger on her. Nicole, egging Sherlock on isn't going to do us any good or help any of these people. Am I clear?"

"You're still not British," Sherlock hissed around John.

"Fuck off. That American enough for you?" Nicky snarled.

"I said that's enough!" John snapped, and both instantly stood up at attention as John continued to speak as a soldier.

"I will call up Mycroft and do my bloody best to get you sent back to America on the next plane leavingHeathrow if you don't stop this nonsense right now Nicole," John threatened softly. "And Sherlock, I won't just hide Cromwell, I will throw him away. Am I clear?"

"Yes," Nicky whispered while Sherlock turned amazed eyes upon John.

"You wouldn't?"

"I would," John growled.

"Fine. A truce seems to be in order, Nicole," Sherlock reached around John to extend his hand to the young American. "Truce."

"Truce," she agreed, shaking his hand even as she was still clearly cowed by John's threat. Taking a deep breath, Nicky raised her head to look John and Sherlock squarely in the eyes.

"Good, now that that's settled, what's the plan?" John asked looking expectantly to Sherlock.

"What is the likelihood that you will remember the rest of the rhyme?" Sherlock now turned to Nicky.

"At the moment not likely," Nicky admitted sadly. "It might come back to me later when I'm not actively thinking about – oh my God!"

Small explosions had begun to systematically go off along the Great Bridge, shaking the very foundation and sending bits of concrete flying through the air. John grabbed ahold of the railing; his eyes wide with panic, and even Sherlock experienced a moment of fear as the entire crossing convulsed wildly. Cars screeched to a halt as wires yanked loose, passengers fled their vehicles as quickly as they could, while those pedestrians that were able ran for the safety of solid ground.

"We've got to get off of the bridge!" Nicky shouted as another shaking of the bridge brought her to her knees. John reached out with one hand for her, yanking her out of the way as a panicked couple stampeded past.

"Hold on, I think the bridge is steadying," he shouted in her ear. It was true, the explosions seemed to at last be over, but the danger was all too clear. Entire chunks of the steel and concrete bridge were now missing, plunged down into the Thames along with cars and unfortunate victims. John kept a steady hand on Nicky and reflexively reached out to help Sherlock as well as a portion of the bridge near them broke loose and splashed into the river below.

"I'm calling the police," Nicky muttered, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket.

"No, call Mycroft. He's faster," Sherlock ordered.

"What his number's on this thing?" she demanded, staring down at her phone in confusion.

"Oh give it here," Sherlock snapped, reaching across to snatch the phone from Nicole. Before he could even dial the number the phone began to ring incessantly in his hands.

" 'Rule, Britannia!' how predictable," Sherlock scoffed at the pre-set ringtone. "Mycroft. Yes, I imagine you're aware that we've run into a spot of trouble. Your assistance would not be deplorable. Fine."

Sherlock ended the call and handed the phone back to Nicky.

"Assistance is on the way. Mycroft insists that we begin making for the street as he has no hopes for the foundation maintaining its stability for much longer," Sherlock ordered.

"Right, then. We'll go one after the other. Sherlock, you first," John ordered. "You're the best at observation, you pick the safest path. Nicky, you stay close behind Sherlock. I'll go last. Got it?"

"Got it," Nicky nodded.

They moved along as quickly as they safely could, Sherlock winding his way nimbly over, under, and through the various degrees of wreckage. They had to take their time, sometimes stopping to catch their breath or carefully move aside chunks of cement that were too large to get around with ease. It was after a portion of the bridge that they had been walking over fell off behind them that Nicky finally snapped.

" "Too obvious", huh?" Nicky growled under her breath as she worked her way after Sherlock, taking care with each step even as she struggled to hurry through the wreckage.

"Now's not the time to call him out on being wrong Nick," John warned her from behind, praying to God that Sherlock would not rise to the bait. "Are you doing all right?"

"I'm on a falling bridge that's just been hit by a bomb. I'm doing bloody _fantastic,_" Nicky said sarcastically.

"Right, forget I said anything. Watch it!" John shouted as yet another support beam of the bridge came loose, wires swinging haphazardly through the air. The trio ducked their heads down, John reaching forward as though he could somehow shield Nicky. She shoved the hand away and hurried onward, as Sherlock moved through the wreckage like a lion on the hunt.

"Take care to not destabilize the bridge any worst than it already is," Sherlock called back in warning.

"Right, because I'm just going to start bashing down the support beams," Nicky grumbled.

"Less sarcasm, more getting to safety," John ordered.

"We'd be going faster if _someone_ would get the lead out up there!"

"Just because your body is overreacting to the stress of the situation by creating an overdose of epinephrine does not mean you need insult my leadership abilities," Sherlock snapped with an angry glare back at Nicole. "And do not think to blame it on the hormonal imbalance caused by your menses either."

"Less talking, more walking," John suggested, praying quietly that they would just stick to verbal sparring and not actually kill one another. To John's mixed delight and concern, Nicky never responded to Sherlock's dig, instead moving quietly through the rubble and ruin.

"All right there, Nick?" he asked after her silence had finally gotten to him.

She mumbled something in response, her eyes flicking back briefly to meet his gaze. She smiled weakly and picked her pace up, trying to assuage the loving fear and concern in her cousin's eyes.

"Are we any closer to land?" John called after ten more minutes of careful climbing and trekking.

"The end is in sight John! I can see the volunteer crew from here. Looks like we have a straight shot and a mild gap to cross," Sherlock called back. "How do either of you feel about jumping?"

"You're kidding, right?" Nicky demanded.

"There's a gap. Looks to be about three feet. Should be easy enough to cross," Sherlock spoke confidently.

"Says the guy with six-foot legs," John muttered, earning a small giggle from Nicky.

"John! Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted in surprise as the rescue workers came across the three survivors. "What the hell are you two doing here?"

"Three Lestrade, or can't you count?" Sherlock demanded in a harried voice.

"I'm going to take that as your "I'm so relieved to be alive I'm going to be a git to the man offering me help"," Lestrade said with a shake of his head. He watched anxiously as the tired trio one by one approached the last gap between the bridge and land. Sherlock went first, barely needing to take an extra step in order to assist his long-legged leap across the three-foot divide. Lestrade grabbed him nevertheless, offering the detective help in standing steady even as the consulting detective attempted to shrug away the assistance. A rescue worker attempted to pull Sherlock away towards the waiting doctors, but he ignored them, turning instead to watch John and Nicky's progress.

"Come on you two!" he ordered. "That bridge won't last forever."

"No shit Sherlock," Nicky muttered, the first words she had said since Sherlock's earlier comment.

"You first Nicky," John ordered.

"John, you're in front of me, would you just jump?" she demanded, nerves clear in her voice.

"Nicky," John started to argue when Sherlock realized several things at once. They had been standing still for too long. The bridge had destabilized too much. There was too much weight on the support beams. They were going to crash at any second.

"John move!" Nicky screeched before Sherlock could even draw breath. She surged forward, shoving John headfirst into the void only to scramble back as cement and stone crashed to where John had been standing.

Sherlock and Lestrade had moved quickly, grabbing ahold of John before he even had a chance to fall down into the Thames. They yanked him onto stable ground, hearts pounding like the Master's drums.

John gasped for breath as adrenalin coursed through his body. Glancing over his shoulder he swore at the sight of the rubble.

"Nicky!" he shouted even as a rescue worker surged forward, grabbing onto him and struggling to pull him away from the divide. "Nicky!"

"I'm fine, John," Nicky wheezed, coughing as the dust fell around her. She looked up from where she laid clear of the rubble, sighing with relief as she saw her cousin and Sherlock safe and wrapped up in the vibrant orange blankets.

Her relief fell though when she realized that the gap had almost doubled.

"_Fuck_," she swore vehemently.

"Hang on Nicky!" John called.

Nicole Watson looked up to make eye contact with her cousin, her disbelief at his words clear.

"Really John? Do I look like I'm about to go diving off?" she asked sarcastically. John sighed with relief. If the American could still be making jokes then she really was all right.

"Anyone have any ideas on how I can get over?" she called to them, resting her head down on the remnants of the bridge.

"Lestrade, surely you have equipment for handling such matters?" Sherlock addressed the DI sharply.

"It's being used on the other side of the bridge to help some of the other survivors there," Lestrade growled with frustration.

"It's not that wide of a jump," One of the rescue volunteers pointed out in an attempt to be helpful.

"She's exhausted and short," Sherlock snapped. "Besides, the average length a human can jump is three feet. That gap is _at least_ five feet."

"Yeah well she can at least try. We'll catch her just like we caught John," Lestrade insisted hopefully.

"And risk her life to that?" Sherlock pointed down angrily to the river waters swirling over and around the remains of London Bridge.

"It's not like we've got much of a choice otherwise," the volunteer retorted, eyeing the bridge nervously.

"As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. We've got to get Nicky out of there," Lestrade spoke up.

"Did you hear that Nicky?" John called across the divide. "Do you think you can try to jump over here?"

"I heard John," Nicky called over uneasily, eying the distance that she still had to cross.

"Fucking heights," Nicky swore in a whisper, clenching her eyes shut in panic as her vision began to swirl.

"Nicky, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine, John," she called back, her voice wobbling with blatant fear even as she tried to hide it.

"Now is not the time for useless lies Nicole Watson. Are you injured?" Sherlock demanded, watching the young woman closely.

"No, I'm fine," Nicky replied automatically.

"You are afraid."

"Shut up."

"That is why you were unusually quiet on the bridge."

"I said shut up Sherlock!"

"You are afraid of heights. Terrified of them! How on Earth did you ever manage to board a plane?" Sherlock wondered. "I can hardly imagine being so crippled by such an irrational fear."

"Stop it!"

"Make me," he taunted.

"I can't!"

"It's a meager distance. I was correct in thinking you unsuitable to keep up with The Work," Sherlock scoffed.

"Shut up!" Nicky snarled, tearing her eyes away from the drop and focusing on the detective. Taking a step back, Nicky flung herself into the open air and crossed the gap between the bridge and solid land, Lestrade and John grabbing ahold of her before she even had the chance to drop down. The snarky volunteer from earlier was wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and forcing her to sit down when her head finally cleared.

"You manipulated me," Nicky said softly, realization dawning on her.

"Yes," Sherlock replied smugly.

"I ought to hit you."

"I wouldn't, considering that it worked. A 'thank you' would be more than sufficient."

"Annoying git," Nicky mumbled, her words slurring with exhaustion. Sherlock's expression softened slightly.

"You saved John."

"He's my cousin."

"We're all still here you know," Lestrade interrupted with a warm chuckle, glad that all of his friends were now safe and sound. But his work was not yet over and more people could be seen coming their way. The volunteers on hand were quick to lead Sherlock, John, and Nicky away to the on-scene ambulance to give them a lookover for injuries.

After a quick perusal that reassured the doctors that Sherlock had been correct in his insistence that they had obtained no lasting injuries nor were any likely to go into shock the three were left to sit quietly and catch their breath.

"Did that really just happen?" Nicky said, her voice thick with emotion as she snuggled further into the vibrant orange shock blanket that Officer Hopkins had wrapped around her shoulders in passing.

"Yeah. Yeah, it really did," John sighed heavily.

"Does stuff like this happen often?" Nicky continued.

"Well, obviously not _exactly_ like this instance. There is only one London Bridge –" Sherlock started to explain when John cut him off.

"Sherlock means 'yes'."

"And you both _still_ willingly get involved in these cases?"

"Of course," Sherlock responded, standing slightly away from the cousins, having already discarded his own shock blanket.

"I think you both may be crazier than Moriarty," Nicky said solemnly.

"We are not insane," Sherlock protested. "We simply – "

"Are adrenaline junkies? Thrill seekers? Really good at defying death? Yes, yes you are. Now that that's settled, who's up for going back to Baker Street? I could really use a warm drink right now."

**A/N This turned out **_**much**_** longer than I thought it would be originally, and it took **_**forever**_** to baby along into something that's actually cohesive. So much love to my beta laureleaf for helping me work this over into the lovely, polished material before you. She really is a gem. Sorry it took so long to update, but I hope this makes up for the delay. Next chapter is in progress!**


	16. I'm not the one blowing things up!

"No Dad, I promise everything's fine," Nicky spoke quickly and quietly into her cell phone, making placating gestures with her free hand even though her father on the other end of the line had no hopes of seeing her. "I'm fine, Cousin John's fine, Sherlock's fine, everyone is fine."

"Well yes, I know that there were a few…casualties, but –"

"Dad you know the media exaggerates everything. If you want to know what really happened you should just follow John's blog. Or you could do something really crazy and actually _believe_ what it is that I'm telling you. No don't –!"

"Hi Mom. Yes. I'm fine. John's fine," Nicky sighed tiredly, no longer gesturing and instead cradling her head in the palm of her hand. She looked positively miserable as her mother gained steam, letting loose the tirade of a woman who had been pushed to the edge of sanity with worry.

"Nothing _bad_ happened. Yes I was scared, but I'm safe now!" Nicky made a half-hearted attempt to protest her mother's increasingly shrill points.

"Mom, I'm finally making real headway on my thesis! I am _not_ going to stop just because–"

"That was a low blow, even for you," Nicky hissed into the phone. At the anger in her voice John glanced up from his newspaper. He had encouraged Nicky to call home, knowing that her parents would be rightly concerned, but he hadn't expected the conversation to go on for over an hour. And judging by the sounds of things Nicky wasn't gaining any ground against her parents' overprotectiveness.

"Mom…Mom I swear I didn't…Mom I would never! Yes Mom," Nicky groaned. She looked up to see John's eyes on her and she mimed a talking mouth, rolling her eyes in over-exaggeration. He smiled and nodded understandingly. His own phone call to Harry had not been quite as…long as Nicky's phone call to her parents was becoming, but therein laid the difference between being a younger brother and being a daughter far from home.

"All right. Yes Mom. Yes Dad. Yes I know…I will, I promise," Nicky rolled her eyes again. "No, I am being completely serious. Of course I would never roll my eyes at you! Mom…Mom, come on international calls are a nightmare! Yes, but…Mother…"

"Right, sorry…Dad would you please talk to her? I'm fine!" Nicky shouted into the phone. John winced and Sherlock quirked an eyebrow up with semi-amusement. This was certainly better than daytime telly, although it would surely be even more amusing if they knew the other half of the conversation.

"I'm not the one blowing things up! I am _not_…okay Mom seriously? Do you really think so little of me? Mom. Mom? Yes, Dad I love you both and I promise to stay safe. I will stop doing stupid things and focus completely on my thesis and school. I _promise_."

"Mom, it was a joke. Sarcasm, I use that a lot, remember? Yes, I know. Yes, I know that too. Okay really, we're going back to…oh for the love," Nicky muttered as an aside.

"Parents are tedious," Sherlock murmured to John.

"You know…yeah, I had actually forgotten how 'tedious' calling home can be. God I love being an adult," John agreed.

"Would you two shut up," Nicky hissed at them before her eyes widened in horror. "Oh my gosh, Mom, Dad, no, not you! I was talking to John and Sherlock! Yes, of course they're here! We came back to their flat to talk with Mrs. Hudson. The landlady. Yes, I've mentioned her before. She's wonderful. No, she's a widow. Well he…he…Mom, what does this have to do with anything? Mom…Mom, listen I've got to go. No, I mean it, I really have to go there's a…there's um, this…thing…that I have to do right now. Very important. High priority. Nope, can't put it off. I promise I'm safe! Totally, completely, one hundred percent safe. Healthy and happy. Yeah Mom. Yes Dad. I love you two, too. Yes Dad. All right, bye now. Yeah, I know, seriously, bye!"

"Well that was tedious," Sherlock observed as Nicky half-heartedly dropped down onto the sofa that he had been perching on the back of. "Move. You are in my way."

"Right," Nicky mumbled, shifting so that Sherlock could drape himself across the couch in his usual languorous glory. John smiled understandingly at her, setting his newspaper aside.

"They're allowed to be concerned – " he started, but Nicky all too quickly cut him off.

"I was just lectured for two hours and twenty-seven minutes by _both_ of my parents. I highly doubt you could add anything that I didn't hear ten times already," Nicky spoke in a warning voice.

"Anyone else want tea? Or maybe something stronger…?" John offered hesitantly.

"Tea," Sherlock said firmly.

"Tea sounds…lovely," Nicky sighed heavily. "Thank you."

"Your parents should take a leaf from Mycroft's book. Caring is not an advantage," Sherlock stated pompously as John started making tea in the kitchen.

"You're one to talk," Nicky muttered.

"Hmm?"

"You care too much," Nicky sighed, leaning back heavily in her seat.

"What's that Nick?"

"Sorry, not you John. The loudmouth detective," Nicky nodded to Sherlock who almost predictably deigned to move his regal head in order to look at the annoying colonial.

"Even such ridiculous statements as _that_ deserve some sort of backing," Sherlock narrowed his gaze at the young woman.

"You nearly had a heart attack when the bridge started to collapse today. If something had happened to John, I wouldn't be surprised if you went on a rampage through all of London."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Well maybe not a rampage. Oh and there's also the people down at the Yard, you care about them. Really, everyone in London."

"_What!"_

"You care about them," Nicky continued to insist. "You solve cases, you find missing people, you get serial killers off the street, and you do it without pay and are particularly vehement about refusing the glory. Oh, you get your adrenaline rush from it, sure, but you _do_ care. If you didn't you would have left London ages ago. Maybe move to New York or one of the really _big_ crime capitals of the world. Find all of those seedy mysteries that no one else can solve and blow the minds of the world. You'd do whatever you want without a care about who you hurt."

"He does that already," John called from the kitchen, half listening to Nicky's attempt at humanizing Sherlock and his actions.

"Yeah but he still solves cases and helps people, even if indirectly. He doesn't kill anyone," Nicky protested.

"That you know of," Sherlock grumped.

"What do you mean…never mind, I really don't want to know," Nicky muttered with a roll of her eyes. "But regardless, you do have some concern for the common folk, even if they are dull as dirt to your mind."

"_Duller_ than dirt. Dirt is quite fascinating, actually –"

"Don't even try to change the subject, Sherlock."

"What are you, my psychologist?" Sherlock sneered.

"Not even if you paid me. I'm just…theorizing."

"You are guessing and it is disgusting. You don't use facts; you merely romanticize and willfully misinterpret your own pathetically unperceptive observations. Idiot."

"Idiota fatuus erit," Nicky responded promptly.

"Oh shut up with the Greek."

"That was Latin," Nicky informed Sherlock smugly. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as his teeth clenched together.

"John, where is my harpoon?" Sherlock demanded, never taking his eyes off of the impertinent American before him.

"_No,_ Sherlock."

"Harpoon," Sherlock growled.

"No," John repeated.

"You. Don't. Scare. Me," Nicky taunted in a singsong voice with a smile.

"You can 'intimidate' everyone down at the Yard all you want, but you don't really scare them and you don't scare me," Nicky challenged.

"Why would I want to 'scare' them? I do _not_ _**care**_ about people. And certainly not those incompetent buffoons at New Scotland Yard."

"Debatable, but what about what they think of you?"

"I don't _care_ what people think," Sherlock sneered, eyeing Nicky with distaste. Nicky cocked her head and really looked at Sherlock, blinking once before nodding slowly.

"You're right," she finally said.

"Of course I –"

"But I'm right too," Nicky stated firmly.

"You may not care about what _people_ think. But you _do_ care about what _John_ thinks," Nicky insisted quietly, lowering her voice so that John wouldn't hear from the kitchen where he was just putting together a tray of kettle and mugs.

Sherlock said nothing in response, only looked at her. John shuffled into the room with the tray and an easy smile. He passed Sherlock and Nicky theirs before sitting down with his own.

"Are you done fighting like cats now?" he observed dryly, taking a sip from his mug.

"Nicole has her points, but the conversation is dull and pointless," Sherlock said solemnly. Nicky pursed her lips but didn't say a word, instead opting to revel in the comforts of a warm cup of tea.

"So this is what you do after death-defying endeavors? Theorize on the deepest motivations of the closest victim?" John teased. Nicky smiled sheepishly, pulling her legs up against her chest as she perched on the couch.

"Considering I've never experienced anything like today before, I can't really say. Bit too much?" she asked, biting down on her lip nervously.

"Entertaining, a little sappy, still better than the rubbish on TV," John reassured her.

"Oh, thank goodness," Nicky rolled her eyes.

John smiled understandingly at her while Sherlock scowled briefly into his tea mug before flipping the television on.

The occupants of Baker Street and their guest sat in relative silence for the next two hours, watching crap telly and alternating between laughing (John and Nicky) and complaining at the quality (Sherlock). When the small kitchen clock chimed ten, Nicky glanced up and groaned.

"Well, it's been fun gents, but I'm calling it a night," Nicky raised her arms above her head and stretched, yawning hugely.

"Giving up already?" Sherlock challenged. They had managed to find University Challenge, which caused Nicky and Sherlock to start competing to see who knew more with John keeping score and playing referee on occasion (which was more like every five minutes).

"Going home to recharge," she refuted. "My roommate ordered me to be back by ten thirty so that we could spend some time doing something other than classwork and thesis research. She's insisting on instituting an "Emergency Educate Nicky About the Wonders of Doctor Who" or something like that."

"Trying to turn you into a Whovian?" John asked with a grin.

"She says I'm almost halfway there since I'm going to 'do things right and start with Nine'. Whatever that means," Nicky rolled her eyes.

"Thank your roommate for me. She'll turn you into a Londoner yet," John said confidently.

"So that's what it takes? Obsessing over Doctor Who?"

"Well for your age range having a respect for Harry Potter as well wouldn't hurt, but that's really up to you," John amended.

"Particularly since you _still_ cannot get the accent even halfway respectable and refuse to put milk in your tea," Sherlock scoffed.

"Relax, I read all the books when I was in elementary school. Didn't get my letter to Hogwarts when I was eleven and spent the next few years obsessing over coming to London and finding Diagon Alley. And Sherlock, I really don't want to hear a word from you, Mr. Putting-Eyeballs-in-the-Microwave. Not taking milk with my tea is hardly worthy of offense in comparison to _that_."

"It would certainly be more useful than reading such childish nonsense."

"Don't mock Harry Potter in front of me, Sherlock," Nicky warned. It's what got me obsessed with England."

"And here you are," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"And here I am. Funny how things like that happen. It's different than what I imagined it would be," Nicky mused, losing her argumentative tone.

"Reality has a tendency of removing the fairy dust from childhood dreams," Sherlock mused philosophically.

"I still made it here," Nicky challenged. "Still defied heights and expectations. And if I do say so myself, my thesis is going to be the best thing my professors have ever read."

"And what makes you so confident?"

"Did you ever get your Masters, Sherlock?"

"I was too busy with…other pursuits to complete that phase of my education," Sherlock replied stiffly. Nicky smiled warmly.

"Well there you go. If I don't have to worry about competing with the Great Consulting Detective, then I have nothing to worry about. And on that note, good night you two."

"Good night, Nicky," John called warmly while Sherlock grunted in response. "Grab a cab, okay?"

"That was the plan unless Mycroft shows up with a better offer," Nicky called over her shoulder with a grin. That comment actually did earn a sarcastic snigger from Sherlock.

As Nicky stepped out of 221 Baker Street she sighed as she took in the peaceful night around her. The explosion earlier that day had scared her, and she wasn't thrilled about Sherlock and John now having indisputable proof that she was an absolute coward when it came to heights, but things could have gone a lot worse.

"Are you Miss Nicky? I got a call from a Mr. Holmes saying you needed a ride?" a man with a thick Irish accent called out from next to a taxi at the end of the corner.

"Yeah, my name's Nicky. You said a Mr. Holmes?" Nicky asked, stepping forward cautiously.

"That's right. Said to take you home since it was such a late night. Even paid me already," the cabbie grinned.

"That sounds like Mr. Holmes," Nicky chuckled. "Thanks, I wasn't looking forward to having to hail a cab down this late at night."

"Oh I don't blame you Miss Nicky. There are all kinds of unsavory characters out there," the cabbie observed. He exited his cab and walked around to the back door, holding it open for the tired college student. "If you'll just get in here we'll be going."

"Thank you," Nicky smiled in gratitude, sliding into the seat.

"Not at all, Miss. Not at all," the cabbie smiled at her as he climbed into the driver's seat. As he put the car into drive his cell phone on the front console began to go off. Nicky smiled at the song, recognizing it faintly as an old disco song from…oh who was it? The Jackson 5? GQ? The Beegees? Yes, that was it, The Beegees.

Nicky hummed along lightly to the 'ah, ah, ahs' as the cab pulled into London traffic.

**Idiota fatuus erit****: An idiot will be an idiot.**


	17. Are you ready to play?

"Thanks for coming in to give your statements chaps. I meant to take them yesterday, but with helping the other survivors and all…" Lestrade trailed off helplessly as Sherlock and John took their seats across from him in his office at New Scotland Yard.

"Not at all Lestrade," John nodded solemnly. It had been good to go back to the flat and act as if nothing had happened the day before, but the reality of the situation had been truly terrible. After Nicky had left John had flipped the channel to the news, having wanted to do that all evening but refusing to do so with Nicky still there. The death counts had been steep. Reporters insisted that it wasn't as bad as it could have been thanks to the quick response of the police and other forces, but it was still more than it should have been. That bridge never should have exploded and those people never should have died.

"By any chance have you heard from Nicky today? I need a statement from her as well."

"I've texted Nicky, she hasn't replied back yet, but I'm sure she'll be here soon," John stated confidently.

"Or she is still asleep from a late night of dubious pop culture indoctrination and possible alcohol consumption as her roommate has drinking habits that is already reducing her likelihood of completing her Masters. Hopefully she will not drag Nicole along with her since alcoholism tends to run through family genetics. Did your father's father have a problem with alcohol?" Sherlock asked, turning curiously to John.

"Sherlock," John started in a voice that warned of swift retribution, but he was interrupted by the sound of Sherlock's mobile going off. Sherlock immediately turned away from John, raising it with a flourish as Lestrade protested the interruption to the giving of statements.

"Hello?"

"You shouldn't have used my phone, Sherlock," Nicky's voice came over the line, her words crackling from the reception and her voice trembling slightly with an emotion that Sherlock could not immediately recognize.

"Nicole? Where are you? John is becoming impatient," Sherlock snapped.

"Tick, tock, around the clock. What does it take to make the bomb stop?" Nicky choked the words out, her voice only barely above a whisper.

"It's time for Round Two of the Great Game, Sherlock. Are you ready to play?" Nicky continued, and now at last Sherlock could hear the tears in her voice and recognize the emotion that coated her every word: absolute terror.

"Moriarty."

"Took you long enough. Really, you're almost becoming ordinary," she informed the consulting detective in a dull monotone. This was a Very Bad Thing. Last night Nicole had laughed and teased at him, accusing him of caring for others and being almost predictable. Now she was crying. She was terrified and in the clutches of his nemesis and it was _his_ fault. He had brought her to Moriarty's attention, offered her up as a new pawn in this insane game between the two of them.

"Why won't you speak to me, Jim? Aren't we past using others?" Sherlock demanded, lowering his voice threateningly. John, who had been listening with growing confusion, perked up at the mention of Moriarty.

"It's all part of the game, Sherlock," Nicky sobbed, a small whimper of pain escaping her. "You've got your pet Watson. Now I have one of my own. Personally, I think mine is a little better. She's a…a much better hostage," Nicky stumbled over the words and a small shriek escaped her lips.

"All will be well Nicole," Sherlock spoke quickly, almost tumbling over the words as they broke loose from him. Lestrade, listening with equal concern picked up the phone on his desk and placed a quiet call requesting Sergeant Donovan come to his office along with the equipment necessary for a wiretap.

" 'All will be well'. Touching Sherlock, really," at last Sherlock heard the high, mocking voice of Jim Moriarty, his usual flare for dramatics coming through loud and clear.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, schooling his voice and features to reflect a calm, bored, and detached outer appearance. Inside he was stringing Moriarty up by his toes over a pool of sharks for _daring_ to touch another one of his Watsons.

"I _told_ you Sherlock. But you didn't listen!" Moriarty giggled, his voice pitching higher like a little girl's.

"You want a Watson?" Sherlock frowned. John growled like a pit bull and Lestrade waved Donovan in, ordering her with his eyes to remain quiet as they quickly set up the necessary machine to trace the call.

"Now why would I want what I already have? It's…evening the playing field for the next number."

"The final round?"

"Not yet. No, no not yet. Your heart is still beating after all," Moriarty chuckled. "No, I'm simply setting the stage for the fireworks."

"Another bomb."

"Only took you two hints that time. You know, it's no wonder you're working slower, two Watsons keeping you down. You really should thank me, Sherlock, taking such a boring, ordinary _thing_ off your hands. Frees your mind up a bit more. Makes it easier for you to stay in step with the music, wouldn't you agree?"

"Do not waste my time, Moriarty. Release Nicole Watson, she is useless to either of us. Give me your challenge and we shall begin," Sherlock said coldly. Lestrade tapped him once on the shoulder. Sherlock turned to the DI and nodded as Lestrade mouthed the words "keep him talking".

"But I already gave you the challenge."

"Without a clue?"

"What makes you think the clue's changed?" Moriarty challenged.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked slowly, drawing the words out. Lestrade nodded as Donovan frowned, confused by what was going on. John had stood up ages ago and was pacing the room, a ticking time bomb that only had so much longer before it would explode in righteous angry fury.

There was a pause on the other line, a quiet, high-pitched giggle, and then another voice came over the line.

"The game has already begun Sherlock. Tick tock," Nicky whispered and then the line went dead. Sherlock remained impassive as Lestrade cursed.

"Did you get _anything_?" John demanded.

"No, the blood-sucking bugger hung up moments before we could get a proper trace," Lestrade growled. John slammed his fist down hard on Lestrade's desk, sending papers flying. Lestrade didn't have it in him to tell the man off for creating even more chaos.

"_What_ did that bastard say Sherlock?" John demanded, turning on his best friend.

"Nicole spoke. She is in Moriarty's power. He is making bomb threats once more, presumably they will be even worse than the chaos of yesterday."

"Wait, what about yesterday?" Sally asked, frowning with confusion.

"Not now Donovan. Did he give us _anything_ to work on?" Lestrade interrogated.

"He claims that he has already given us the clue. We have simply missed something he was trying to tell us," Sherlock said coldly. Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose, a full-on migraine hitting the poor DI in full force.

"Why would he even take Nicky?" John questioned.

"Unless he's planning to do a repeat and attach a bomb to her," Sherlock pointed out icily.

No one even had the chance to stop John as he flew across the room like a lightening bolt and slammed his fist into Sherlock's stomach.

"_Don't_ say that," John growled, taking a step back. "She's my cousin, Sherlock. I don't want to hear any of your 'people don't matter' crap. Find. Her. Now."

"It's a possibility we may have to consider," Lestrade said cautiously to the former army captain. Donovan, Lestrade, and Sherlock watched John warily, waiting to see if there would be any further outbursts from the outraged doctor.

"Then why are we just sitting in here? We've got a bomb threat and a kidnapped college student to save," John snapped.

"Is _that_ what's going on?" Donovan asked.

"Oh would you stop channeling Anderson? You used to be marginally intelligent for an idiot," Sherlock sighed impatiently. "_Yes_ Donovan, Nicole Watson has been kidnapped and now London is being threatened by a madman with a propensity for explosives and showing off."

"So we lock you up and go find the girl?"

"And _why_ would we lock _me_ up?"

"Well you just described yourself, Freak."

"Donovan, _now_ is not the time," Lestrade interrupted.

"I'm sorry Sir, but I'm failing to see the problem," Donovan snapped. "What I'm hearing is someone supposedly kidnapped Nicole Watson, something that we have no proof for, and there _may_ be another bomb threat coming from this lunatic," Donovan summarized, pointing an accusing finger at Sherlock.

John Watson had never hit a woman before in his life. While he viewed women as his equal, certainly, he still considered it to be a disgustingly ungentlemanly-like act to commit. Sally Donovan was lucky that the belief was so completely ingrained in his psyche, because otherwise the punch that Sherlock had received would look like a love tap.

"All I'm saying is that we have no proof that the young woman's been kidnapped. What's more we don't really know anything about her. She just showed up, told a little story, and started following these nutcases around."

"What are you saying Donovan?"

"I'm asking John what his proof is that Nicole is even his cousin? How does he know that she's not some agent's of this Moriarty character?" Donovan demanded.

"Come again?" John snapped, whirling on Donovan instantly. The sergeant did a remarkable job of holding her ground, although Sherlock's keen eye noted the brief look of fear that flashed across her face.

"As I understand it she's not a native citizen," Donovan started, regaining her composure as she faced off with the ex-military man. "She's only been here for a short while and she's already been kidnapped? Why? What use is she to anyone? And for that matter, what do either of you two even know about her? Are you even certain she's your cousin, John?"

"Are you joking? You're joking. You have got to be fucking _kidding _me! My cousin's just been kidnapped by a lunatic, and you're suggesting that she's, what, a spy?!"

"Yeah, I'm suggesting your 'cousin' is a spy, and not even your cousin," Donovan snapped, gearing up to be in full argument mode. "You two don't look a thing alike, no trace of family resemblance."

John saw red. Here he was, stuck in what may be the most ridiculous debate he could ever become entangled in and his cousin was God knows where being tortured by the same lunatic who had kidnapped him before. John was furious with Donovan, angry with Sherlock for causing this, and experiencing an onslaught of guilt at the thought of the panic that Nicky must be facing at this very moment.

"Except of course for their hair color, the similarities in their height, their facial structure, the length of their fingers, and of course the turn-up of their jeans. It's _obvious_ Sergeant Donovan, honestly," Sherlock scoffed.

"Only _you_," Sally sneered. "Would possibly think that the turn of someone's jeans could mark them as family."

"Only _I_ would think to observe it," Sherlock countered. "Nicole Watson is not a criminal. I would have noticed it. Or perhaps you did not observe yesterday when she shoved John to safety?"

"Could have been a ploy," Sally argued.

"And risk her own life? Oh yes, sheer _brilliance_," Sherlock scoffed.

"Listen you git –"

"That's enough, from the both of you!" Lestrade thundered. "Sergeant Donovan, while your thoughts on the subject are appreciated at the moment we have no proof that Nicky is in any way, shape, or form associated with Moriarty. Until we have proof otherwise I want a Missing Persons report submitted _now_. Not. One. Word," the DI threatened when his sergeant started to open her mouth again. "Get out of my sight and get that report submitted _now_. I'll personally deal with getting the bomb squad rolling."

"Those reports are notoriously slow," Sherlock muttered in a low tone to John as Lestrade and his underling hurried off, stupidly leaving the consulting detective and his assistant alone in Lestrade's office.

"I know. We have to find her," John said firmly, his voice a low gravel, the voice of a hunter that was preparing himself for the pursuit of his prey.

"I agree. The longer that she is in Moriarty's possession –"

"Sherlock, you're my best mate," John interrupted, speaking firmly and quickly yet still seeming to take care in his choice of words. "But so help me God, if we don't find her…if she's hurt…"

"You don't have to say it, John."

"You deserve to know. If she gets hurt because of what you've done I will –"

"I _know_, John. Let's just find her so you won't have to."

**A/N Had to throw in some angst there at the end. And I feel no shame at having John punch Sherlock. I'm still shocked that in the whole of six episodes it only happened once.**


	18. Take the key and lock her up

**Author's Note: I would just like to start this by saying how sorry I am that it's taken me this long to update. The last few weeks have been hellish and I've been lucky to get my own work done let alone have time for writing. Things are starting to settle down, so hopefully I can get the rest of this written and posted soon!**

* * *

"The Homeless Network has not seen or heard anything," Sherlock muttered to himself. John did not reply as he was not there, not that Sherlock noticed. Really, in the mess of a flat around him it would be impossible to say who was there and who was not. In the three hours since learning that Nicole Watson was missing the flat had been transformed from bachelor pad to a general's war room. Maps of London were everywhere, maps of the rooftops, key structures, the Underground, detailed descriptions of the parks. Any conceivable hidey hole displayed for the inhabitants of 221B to see. The problem was that there were so many of them. So many places for a bomb to be hidden. So many places for Nicole to be kept. So many places for Moriarty to be lurking.

Even with the help of Holmes's Homeless Network it was a daunting task. While Sherlock sat and thought through the problem, John was roaming the streets for information. Mycroft had a tail on him (one unaccounted Watson was one too many already) for surveillance as well as protection.

Sherlock wasn't worried about John's safety. Too a point he wasn't even concerned about Nicole's safety. But he was concerned about the twinge growing somewhere in the middle of his stomach that had formed when he realized Nicole Watson was in Moriarty's clutches.

It wasn't guilt. Or at least he didn't think it was guilt. It didn't feel like the time at Baskervilles when he had experimented on John's coffee. Similar though.

Sherlock scoffed at his musings, disgusted that he had been reduced to comparing sentiment even as his mind was sorting through the greater mystery of where Moriarty was hiding and what he would be up to next.

He briefly allowed himself to recall Sergeant Donovan's concern that Nicole might in fact be a traitor. While Sherlock had no doubts about the status of John and Nicole's blood ties, the possibility that she could still be in league with Moriarty did deserve some consideration. Family did not guarantee being on the same side. One only had to look at Sherlock and his archenemy to realize that.

After a few moments of consideration, Sherlock shoved his musings into a folder in his Mind Palace. None of this was important! Whether Nicole was a traitor or not was immaterial at the moment. Until the matter was resolved, John would remain inconsolable and unwilling to work with the consulting detective and that was Not Good. Right now the key was to find Nicole. If Nicole proved innocent, Sherlock would save her. If she proved to be working with Moriarty, Sherlock would drag her through the streets of London, proclaiming her crimes for all to hear, shaming her for having the audacity to share John's blood and dishonor it. And _then_ he would let Mycroft have her.

Mycroft would undoubtedly gain much information from her if that should be the case, particularly in how she managed to manipulate the events on the bridge…

"It's obvious!" Sherlock shouted in the middle of his thought, his eyes lighting up with realization. Turning to the laptop perched precariously on the kitchen table he pulled up the address for The Science of Deduction. Making a quick post he stood back impatiently, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long before his phone went off.

"So you finally solved my clue. Well done Sherlock, you're playing the game as though you actually have a heart," Nicky recited what Sherlock knew to be Moriarty's words, her voice wooden and dead. There was no pain, no fear, no emotion whatsoever in Nicole Watson's words. It was that which sent a tiny shiver of fear (though he would deny it until the end of time) running down his spine.

"It was obvious," Sherlock said smoothly. "Simply a matter of memory and application."

"Liar. You're getting slow. Or maybe you just don't care about what happens to Miss Watson? One Watson is enough after all."

"You are attempting to bait me. How ordinary of you, Moriarty," Sherlock scoffed.

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that," Nicole responded, her words a little rushed. Distantly Sherlock could hear the sound of cars driving by, not that that did much good for identification of Nicole's whereabouts. "I've got a new rhyme for you Sherlock. I made it up myself. I think you'll really like this one. But maybe you won't? Do you want to hear it? Maybe you'll even recognize the tune?

Nicole Watson stood on a tower

Nicole Watson had a great fall

And all of John's forces

And all of Sherlock's brain

Couldn't put Nicky together again.

"It needs a bit of work, but well, I personally think it suits the situation perfectly," Nicole spoke the words slowly, mechanically. She was trying desperately to detach herself from the situation, imagining herself back safe in America.

"Do you understand this one Sherlock? After all, the last rhyme took you such a long time to solve."

" 'Take the key and lock her up.' How quaint, a hidden warning about a kidnapping, obviously a lady. _Forgive me_," Sherlock infused his words with the sarcasm that he normally reserved for mocking Anderson. "For thinking that you would choose someone of greater importance than an ignorant, useless American schoolgirl. A real lady, perhaps?"

"Oh but it's so hard to catch one of those unguarded. You practically giftwrapped dear Nicky for me, after all," Nicole's voice caught, and Sherlock could faintly hear her begin to cry.

"I already know what is required," Sherlock said steadily.

"Oh do you really now? Then come meet me in an hour since you know where to come and what to do. No need to bring any of your pets with you though, one Watson is all that is needed," Nicky gasped out between sobs. Sherlock did not even have the chance to breathe, let alone offer a word of encouragement when the call ended.

Sherlock barely heard the click of the line going dead before he was holding up the phone and dialing in a well-known number.

"John."

"What?"

"Come back to the flat immediately. Wave for Mycroft's tail, they'll see to it that you get back here quickly."

"What happened?"

"Come back to the flat," Sherlock repeated himself before ending the call. He could imagine all too well the string of curses that his flatmate would release before doing as he was bid and returning to Baker Street.

Sherlock moved about the flat casually, putting on a pot of coffee. It had been a long time since John had gone on a long march and he would undoubtedly be tired. Sherlock did not have to wait long to hear the telltale sounds of an angry ex-army man stomping up the stairs to 221B.

"I'm going to assume that the only reason you called me back in is because there's been a break in the case. What's happened?"

"Moriarty called. He was using Nicole as his speaker, so it is clear that she is still alive. He gave a new clue."

"Well what is it then?" John demanded impatiently.

"Tower. The Humpty Dumpty rhyme."

"Humpty Dumpty?" John frowned. "What sense does that make?"

"Replace Humpty Dumpty with your cousin."

Sherlock watched as John's face turned a deathly pale. But it was not the pale of a sick man, but rather one who had gone so far past the point of anger that only death waited for his enemies. There would be no mercy for Moriarty should John Watson ever get his hands upon him. No mercy at all.

"Before you go on a killing spree, join me for a cup of coffee?"

"You never make coffee," John snapped, instantly suspicious.

"You're tired John. I need you to be at your top game if we are going to have any success at recovering Nicole," Sherlock snapped back, slamming two cups down in front of John.

"Bugger off, Sherlock. I'll sleep when Nicky's safe," John growled. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and casually pushed John's mug closer to him.

"You need the caffeine," was all that Sherlock would say when John scowled at him. Scowling and growling, John snatched up the mug and downed the lukewarm liquid in a single gulp. John grimaced, the taste sweeter than he normally took it.

It took a full fifteen seconds for John to connect the dots.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, or attempted to shout. His words came out as a slur as he tilted in his chair. Sherlock caught him and dragged him over to the couch, laying him out so that his shoulder would not become strained and ache when he awoke.

"It would have been too dangerous for you to come. My orders were clear. Do not fear, I shall return with Nicole," Sherlock promised as he watched his blogger succumb to much-needed drug-induced slumber.

As soon as he was out cold Sherlock pulled out his mobile and dialed Greg Lestrade. While he was waiting for the man to pick up, Sherlock observed wryly that in the last few hours he had made more phone calls than he had in months. It would be nice to return to texting as his main method to communicate with others.

"Hello?"

"Lestrade."

"What Sherlock? If you've called to ask about the search for Nicky, we're doing the bloody well best we can," the tired D.I. snapped into the phone.

"There's another bomb."

"You're joking."

"I never joke. Even if I did, it would not be about this," Sherlock said coldly. "There are two other bombs hidden on the other Thames bridges. Hold off on the search for Nicky, she would never forgive any of us

"Am I to assume that you have a lead on her location if you're sending us off somewhere else?"

"There is a bomb threat Lestrade. What I do with my spare time should be the least of your concerns."

"Sherlock –"

The consulting detective hung up on the D.I. before another word could be spoken. Exiting the flat at a rapid pace, his Belstaff swishing behind him, Sherlock hailed a cab and gave terse directions.

Not a word was spoken as Sherlock was driven through the streets of London to a familiar point. Sherlock paid the cabbie, exited the cab, entered the building, climbed a flight of stairs and regarded his surroundings with an indifferent expression.

"I am here," Sherlock called into the empty room.


End file.
